Читать книгу Unanswered Prayers - Penny Richards - Страница 8

During the ride home, Rio’s thoughts were filled with his confrontation with Bull Farmer. He prayed he hadn’t made things worse for Rick, but if ever a kid needed some guidance and someone to stand up for him, Rick Farmer was that kid.

Rio rubbed a hand over his whisker-stubbled cheek and expelled a harsh sigh. Now he understood why Maggie was so down some evenings. He was always telling her to leave her work at the office, but after today, he could see how much easier that was said than done. The amazing thing was that she was able to stay as objective as she did.

Rio’s heart lifted when he saw her car in the driveway, but he had a few more chores to do before he could call it a night. He stopped by the trailer to visit with Jeremy’s wife and baby daughter and check with Jeremy to see how the broncs had settled in, but Tess said he’d driven in to town to pick up some hamburgers for supper.

Having his recently discovered younger brother and his family on the ranch was a pleasure Rio was glad he hadn’t missed. As he did often of late, he wondered if the man who’d fathered them both was lonely, and if he was sorry for the world of distortion he’d built, now that it had collapsed on him.

He knew Jeremy missed his dad—and probably the easy lifestyle he’d grown up with. But he was a stubborn kid, and he was still mad and hurt to the bone by John Hardin Westlake’s scheme to separate him from Tess and their unborn baby. Tess’s father and Westlake had constructed a web of lies that put the two young people’s love to the test. Only a miracle had brought them all together. A miracle and a woman named Maggie, who’d been willing to put her job on the line.

As Rio played with six-and-a-half-month-old Emily, he tried to imagine what his life had been like before he’d found her on his front doorstep. Lonely. Empty But Emily’s appearance had brought Maggie back into his life, and eventually Jeremy and Tess had come, too. And suddenly Rio had found himself with a real family. It was nice, he thought. Real nice.

After giving Emily the attention she considered her due each evening, Rio checked Babydoll again and gave his gelding a rubdown and a handful of sugar cubes. Something about the mundane tasks was calming. It didn’t occur to him that the small everyday chores were a validation—maybe even a celebration—of his own life and happiness.

When he stepped through the door of the house he shared with Maggie an hour and a half later, the aroma of baking apples and other mouthwatering scents wafted through the air to tickle his nostrils. He smiled. She had cooked up a storm—with apple pie for dessert. He wondered what he’d done to deserve it. He wondered what he’d done to deserve his sweet, sweet Maggie. The sheer rightness of his life banished the last lingering thoughts of Bull Farmer from his mind.

He hung his Stetson on the antique hall tree and took off his boots in the entryway. Maggie got a little testy if he tracked up her floors. Considering the time she spent keeping the place clean, he couldn’t say he blamed her.

“Maggie!” he called, padding toward the living room in his stocking feet.

“In here!”

Rio made his way through the house toward the sound of her voice. He stopped just inside the dining room. The room was dark, except for the flames of literally dozens of candles—tall, squat, thin, fat—a re-creation that was poignantly reminiscent of their wedding night.

Maggie stood by the window, her head tilted slightly to one side as she arranged flowers in a crystal vase. She wore a dress he’d never seen before. He knew he’d never seen it, because it wasn’t the sort of dress a man would easily forget, a shimmering, satiny, peach-colored number that gathered at the neck and revealed most of her shoulders. The hair that tumbled over her bare, fair shoulders shone as brightly as the copper kettle her Aunt Hattie had given them at their kitchen shower. She looked up at him, a single long-stemmed rose in her hand.

“Hi.” She raised the rose to her lips, her green eyes twinkling over the petals as if she had a secret too delicious to keep.

She dropped the flower on the table and reached out a hand toward him. Dazed, Rio, his movements slow and careful drew her into his arms, feeling, as he always did in her presence, big and clumsy and unworthy of a woman like her.

Their kiss was long and slow. When she drew away, his heart was galloping in his chest.

“My sweet, sweet Maggie,” he said in a husky voice as he rubbed his thumb over her bottom lip in a gentle caress. “What’s all this for?”

Maggie captured his hand. “I know how hard you and Cal and Ken have been working at getting those rodeos lined up lately, and how uptight you’ve been about getting your business started. I got to thinking that it would be nice if I helped you unwind.”

He laughed softly and shook his head.

“How am I supposed to relax when you look so beautiful?” he said thickly. “You are, you know.”

“So are you,” she countered on a sigh.

“Yeah, right.” He hugged her tighter and gave a deep, satisfied sigh. “I don’t know what I did to deserve this kind of treatment, but if you’ll tell me, I’ll make sure to do it more often.”

She lifted her head from his chest to look at him, then cradled his whisker-rough cheek with her palm.

“I guess I just got to thinking about how lucky I am to have you,” she said in a trembling voice.

He dipped his head to kiss her. Their mouths had just touched when the phone rang, shattering the feelings building between them.

“Don’t answer it,” he said as the phone rang again.

“It might be Cal calling from Calgary,” Maggie said, reminding him of the trip Cal McKinney had made to see about providing the stock for the annual Stampede. The phone shrilled the third time.

“You don’t want to miss it, do you?” she asked as the fourth ring pealed out.

Reluctantly Rio hauled himself away from her and stalked into the kitchen. He grabbed the phone on the fifth ring and barked a short “Hello” into the receiver. Nothing but buzzing sounded in his ear.

Great. Whoever it was had hung up. He was just starting back to the dining room when the doorbell rang. What was this? he wondered. Some sort of conspiracy? Muttering to himself, he went to see who was at the door.

Maggie watched as Rio left the room, a look of admiration in her eyes, a satisfied smile on her lips. For the past few hours she’d raced around the house like a mad woman, cooking, cleaning, arranging the flowers and candles just so and then finally, working on herself, creaming, spritzing and curling, until she looked as good as the rest of the place. Judging from the expression on Rio’s face, it had all been worth it—more than worth it. There was no doubt that he liked the dress. The music on the CD player had changed to an instrumental Christmas medley. She sighed in contentment as she hummed along with the soft strains of a violin. Her husband was quite a man, she reflected. How had she gotten so lucky as to find him?

Her thoughts were scattered by the sudden unexpected roar of a gunshot from the front of the house. The noise drowned out the lilting melody of the Christmas song and shattered Maggie’s mood in a single thundering beat of her heart. Instant and inexplicable fear exploded inside her. Her brain kicked into overdrive, computing the information at hand and coming up with a horrifying answer.

Rio!

With her heart pounding in sudden terror, Maggie ran headlong through the house, screaming his name.

She careened to a stop just inside the living room. In the light that spilled through the open doorway from the front porch, she saw Rio lying sprawled on his back Rick Farmer stood framed in the open doorway, a look of fearful disbelief on his face, a revolver clutched in his whiteknuckled fist as he stared at Rio helplessly. Maggie’s hand crept to her mouth to hold back the anguished cry that emanated from the depths of her soul.

“I’m sorry.”

The sound of Rick’s voice broke the spell of immobility that held Maggie rooted to the floor. With a high, keening wail, she launched herself across the room and dropped to her knees beside Rio’s still, bleeding body, trying her best to rouse him, wanting, needing to hear him say he was all right. But there was no sign of life, except a horrible sucking noise that came from his chest with every shallow breath he took.

Swaying from a growing light-headedness, Maggie was marginally aware of Jeremy arriving, his shotgun in tow, demanding that Rick put down his weapon, which he did while chanting a litany that he was sorry.

“Call an ambulance, Maggie,” Jeremy commanded.

Maggie’s dazed gaze moved from Rick’s white face to Jeremy’s. “What?”

“Call an ambulance, dammit!” Jeremy yelled.

Shocked by the unaccustomed violence in his manner, Maggie scrambled to her feet and dialed 911, telling the operator in a strangely detached tone what had happened. Assured that the ambulance and the police were on their way, she went back and knelt beside Rio, wiping at the fine spray of blood on his face with the hem of her satin dress and watching in helpless surprise when more reappeared.

“He’s bleeding to death,” Jeremy said in a tearthickened voice. “For God’s sake, Maggie, do something besides sit there and watch him die.”

Once again, the harsh criticism in his voice jolted her from the dreamlike passivity enshrouding her. Rio dying? She looked up at Jeremy with the idea of giving him a piece of her mind and encountered the anguish on his face. It was like the slap of a wet washrag. Jeremy thought Rio was dying.

She looked down at Rio, really seeing him for the first time. He was pale and still. Too still, except for the noise rattling in his chest. Too still, she thought on a fresh rush of panic, but alive.

Bits and pieces from the first aid class she’d taken in college came rushing back. Nothing was obstructing his breathing. But he was bleeding from the wound that misted his chest with a fine spray of blood with every breath he expelled.

The term for the type of wound emerged from somewhere in the back of her mind, probably all the thrillers she read. It was a sucking chest wound.

Petroleum jelly and gauze. That tidbit, too, came from nowhere…somewhere. It was worth a try, better than watching blood being pumped from him with every beat of his heart. Running to the bathroom, Maggie located some gauze bandages and a jar of petroleum jelly.

She got back to the living room in time to see the sheriff’s car screech to a sliding stop in the driveway, his siren blaring, the red and blue lights on top of the county vehicle slashing the darkness with metronomic frenzy.

Fully aware of the danger of the situation, Maggie was too busy trying to stanch the flow of blood to concern herself with what Wayne Jackson was doing. She knew that Jeremy relinquished his guard to a deputy while Wayne handcuffed Rick. As the sheriff herded his prisoner toward the squad car, Maggie heard him reciting the Miranda code over the harsh sounds of Jeremy’s crying and the scream of the approaching ambulance.

But the thing that she would always remember was Rick’s quivering young voice saying brokenly, “I didn’t do it, Sheriff. I swear, I didn’t do it.”

Maggie closed her eyes. It was the same thing he’d said about the dog.

Eva Blake looked up from the delicate square she was crocheting, one of many that would comprise the bedspread she was making for Maggie and Rio. She laid down her handwork and gazed tenderly at her husband. At sixty-five, he was still a fine-looking man, tall and trim and fit from his twice-weekly tennis games, the craggy lines in his face only adding to his good looks.

As it always did when she looked at Howard, her heart swelled with a wave of love so strong it hurt. How many times during the past forty-three years had she looked across a room and fallen in love with him all over again? His head, mostly gray now, was buried between pages of newsprint, as it was most evenings. He preferred to digest the news along with his breakfast, but it was seldom that he made it through his morning meal without someone calling about this crisis and the next, needing his advice, his help, his steadfastness.

In all the years they’d been together, Eva had never known him to put his own wishes ahead of those of his flock. His selflessness was just one of the reasons she loved him. Howard would be the first to tell her not to put him on any pedestal, that he wasn’t perfect by a long shot, but he was so close to perfection—at least in her mind—that it wasn’t worth splitting hairs over.

She knew she was getting sentimental, but what if she was? She couldn’t help being sentimental any more than she could help that her hair was more gray now than auburn or that she cried when she heard the “StarSpangled Banner” or that she liked country line dancing—which she often practiced in the living room when Howard was at the church building. She shot Howard a sideways glance and bit her bottom lip to hold back a giggle. What would Howard say if he knew?

A Christmas commercial filled the television screen and Eva sighed. The McKinneys’ big party was coming up soon.

“What should I wear to the McKinneys’ Christmas party?” she asked, lifting her gaze to Howard again.

“Whatever you want,” he said without looking up.

Eva smiled. He was on automatic pilot. “I was thinking of getting something new.”

“That’s fine.”

“I saw a cute little number in Frederick’s of Hollywood the other day,” she said with feigned nonchalance.

Did she imagine it, or was there the slightest pause before he answered? “That’s nice.”

Eva moved her crocheting from her lap to the coffee table and hugged a throw pillow to her ample breasts. “Howard,” she said in a serious tone.

“Mmm?”

“I’m having an affair.” It was a credit to her acting ability that she delivered the line straight-faced.

His eyes never left the paper. “Uh-huh.”

Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open. “Is that all you have to say?”

Howard turned another page of his paper. “Lucky guy,” he said, deadpan.

“Oh, you!” Eva fumed.

His blue eyes alight with merriment, Howard looked up in time to catch the pillow that came flying through the air at him.

“I had you going there for a while, didn’t I?” he said with a chuckle.

She pretended to pout. “I’m not talking to you.”

“Come on, Evie, talk.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Tell me about the Frederick’s outfit.”

“You’re incorrigible!” she said, but she was doing her best to hide a smile.

“But you love me.”

She leveled an accusing look and pointed a finger at him. “And prideful.”

Howard winked at her. “But not boring.”

She tried to hold back a smile and failed. She shook her auburn curls, which were preserved from the ravages of time by Suzi over at the Curl Up and Dye beauty salon, who touched up Eva’s roots the third Tuesday of every month. “No one could ever accuse you of that.”

“Not even back in high school?”

Eva cocked her head to the side and pretended to consider the question. “Well…”

Howard pushed himself up from the chair and held out his hand to her. “Come on. Let’s go make some popcorn.”

“Honestly, Howard,” Eva said, as he drew her to her feet. “You’re so helpless. Just put the bag in the microwave, press the popcorn button and three minutes later it’s ready.”

Howard slid his arm around her shoulders. “I know, but I’ll miss you.”

Eva dimpled up at him. “What a sweet thing to say.”

“And besides,” he said, giving her a light squeeze, “I thought if I sweet-talked you a little you might make us up a batch of real hot chocolate instead of that packaged stuff.” Howard’s smile was angelic.

The shrill ringing of the phone interrupted their lighthearted banter. Howard bent and reached for the receiver, offering the caller a hearty “Hello.”

Eva saw his eyes close and the color drain from his face. An icy, unaccountable fear swept through her like a cold Panhandle wind.

“Of course,” she heard him say. “We’re on our way.” He hung up the receiver and met Eva’s worried eyes with a bleak gaze.

“What?” she cried softly.

“That was Maggie. Rick Farmer just shot Rio.”

Less than thirty minutes later, Maggie found herself pacing the waiting room of Crystal Creek’s small hospital, wiping periodically at the tears she couldn’t stop, praying incessantly and waiting for some word about Rio’s condition. Jeremy, his wife, Tess, and Elena, Rio’s housekeeper and friend, were all out in the hallway, wild with grief and coping with their sorrow and worry in their own way.

Dr. Purdy had called in Dr. Dekker, the new Indonesian doctor, who, having just put in a fair share of time in one of Austin’s busy emergency rooms during his residency, had more skill with gunshots than the country doctor did. There was a faction in town that was prejudiced against the young doctor, but Nate said Sonny Dekker was “sharp as a tack,” and the old doctor’s stamp of approval was all Maggie needed.

How could something like this have happened? she asked herself again. How could she have been holding Rio in her arms one minute and the next find him laid out on the living room floor with a gunshot wound?

She pressed her knuckles to her mouth to hold back a sob. Why had Rick done it?

He’d said he hadn’t.

But he was holding the gun, and he’d apologized over and over.

“Oh, Rio’“ she cried aloud.

“Are you all right?”

With tears running unchecked down her face, Maggie whirled. Jeremy stood in the doorway, red-eyed and disheveled. Funny. She’d never noticed before how much alike the two brothers looked. She felt another rush of tears and did her best to blink them away. “I don’t know,” she said truthfully.

Jeremy drew her into his arms. As Maggie clung to him for comfort, it occurred to her that he’d matured a lot in the past few months, growing into a strong, dependable man, just like his brother.

“Why, Jeremy?” she asked, choking on a sob. “Why would Rick hurt Rio after all he’s done to try and help?”

“They quarreled this afternoon.” Jeremy’s voice was heavy with finality.

Maggie drew back and looked at Jeremy with teardrenched eyes. “Quarreled? About what?”

“We were moving that pen full of broncs, and Babydoll got the horses riled up. Rick got thrown. He was pretty mad and tried to take it out on the dog.”

“Oh, no!”

“Rio wasn’t too happy,” Jeremy said.

Knowing how attached Rio was to the dog and how much he loved animals in general, Maggie figured Jeremy’s comment was an understatement.

“When I rode up to see what was going on, Rio was giving Rick a pretty good tongue-lashing. He took him home a little while later.”

Maggie should have been furious with Rick. She should be hating him for what he’d done. Instead, she was confused by his behavior.

“But would Rick shoot Rio because he chewed him out? That seems so…I don’t know…drastic. Like the punishment didn’t fit the crime.”

“In the environment Rick’s grown up in, I imagine that’s a way of life.”

“Probably,” Maggie conceded, but even with the picture so vivid in her mind of him standing there with the gun in hand, she still had difficulty reconciling the action. “It’s just hard for me to imagine Rick hurting the only person in town who was willing to give him a chance.”

Jeremy took her hands in a firm grip. “It’s a crying shame the way people make judgments about a person based on hearsay and heredity instead of taking the time to see what that person is really like.”

The gleam of sorrow in his eyes told Maggie that Jeremy was thinking about Rio. Fortunately, Rio had enough strength of character to rise above those who condemned him. If only Rick could have found that same strength, instead of sinking to the depths everyone expected of him.

“I know it’s hard to believe Rick did it, but we can’t overlook the fact that he was holding the gun and saying he was sorry,” Jeremy said.

“I know,” Maggie said. “But, it’s such a waste. It isn’t like Rick is a real loser or anything. Mama remembers him from school. She says he’s very smart, but that his dad sabotages his schooling every chance he gets.” She shook her head. “I’m afraid if he doesn’t get an education, he’ll wind up another statistic.”

“I hate to break it to you, Maggie,” Jeremy said, “but he already is.”

The gentle reminder brought a picture of Rio lying on the floor, his blood covering them both. “I guess so.”

Wearing a sad smile, Jeremy gave her a quick hug. “It’s just like you to be as worried about Rick as you are about Rio.”

“Not quite as worried,” Maggie said with a wry twist of her lips. “But it does bother me. And I’m disappointed, I guess. I grew up under the old ‘do unto others’ dictum, and it’s always a disappointment to me when it doesn’t work the way it should.”

Jeremy’s smile was edged with bitterness. “Problem is that a lot of people today figure it’s ‘do unto others before they do unto you.”‘

Maggie wondered if Jeremy was thinking about his father. “It isn’t a very good testimony for the human race, is it?”

“Margaret?”

At the sound of the deep, mellifluous voice, Maggie looked up and saw her parents standing in the doorway of the waiting room. Her mother’s plump, still-beautiful face wore a frown, and her father’s beloved features held the peaceful, steadfast look they always did…as if he’d figured out the answers to all life’s problems and was satisfied with the solutions.

Maggie felt a twinge of envy that she squelched immediately. He’d be the first to tell her that if she’d just turn things over to God she would have that same attitude, that same contentment. Young people, he was fond of saying, were always trying to do it themselves instead of asking for help from the one source that would never let them down. All Maggie knew was that even when she wasn’t sure God was listening, she’d always been able to count on her dad.

“Daddy!” she cried, flying into Howard Blake’s arms. The familiarity of his embrace gave her a sense of security, a feeling that now everything would be all right.

Howard hugged her for a long moment and, pressing a kiss to her forehead, relinquished her to her mother’s gentle, floral-scented embrace.

“How is he?” Eva said, brushing Maggie’s hair away from her pale cheeks.

Maggie shrugged. “You know how doctors are. They tell you as little as possible. Dr. Purdy called in that new doctor…Dr. Dekker.”

“I’ve heard he’s very good,” Eva said. “I guess there’s nothing we can do but wait and pray, then, is there?”

“Do you think that will help?” Maggie asked a bit acerbically.

“Margaret Langley!” Eva chided in a shocked voice. “How can you ask such a thing?”

Tears pooled in Maggie’s eyes. “Because I loved Greg, and I asked God to spare his life, and he died, anyway.” She swiped at her eyes almost angrily. “I still remember how I felt after Greg died. Empty…and lost. Like I was in limbo, just waiting for something to happen.”

Eva’s agonized gaze sought Howard’s. He closed his eyes, feeling his daughter’s pain as if it were his own.

“I tried to remember you and Daddy reminding me that the Bible says everything works for good to those who love God, and when I finally met Rio, I thought that finding happiness with him was what God really wanted for me.”

“I believed that, too,” Eva said. “I still believe it.”

“Then why is Rio in surgery about to die?” Maggie railed. “What kind of loving God would put a person through this pain twice?”

“A God who knows what’s best for us, Maggie,” Howard interjected in a soothing tone. “One who won’t put more on us than we can bear.”

“Spare me, Daddy!” Maggie said, her face contorted with anger. “I’ve heard it all before, and let me tell you…I’m not so sure I believe it anymore.”

Without waiting for her father to reply, Maggie swept past her parents and Jeremy into the hallway.

Eva’s tortured gaze followed her daughter’s retreating form and then moved from Jeremy’s pale features to Howard. Mumbling something about checking on Maggie, Jeremy slipped from the room.

An hour later, Nate Purdy entered the waiting room accompanied by Dr. Sunarjo Dekker. Dr. Purdy’s craggy face was lined with fatigue. Even the younger doctor’s face held weariness, Maggie thought.

Nate made the introductions, and let the younger man do the talking.

“How is he?” Maggie asked, clutching her mother’s hand.

“He’s stable,” Sonny Dekker said. “The bullet passed through your husband’s lung and exited his back. What we had was pneumothorax of the left lung, caused by what we call a sucking chest wound.”

“What’s pneumothorax?” Jeremy asked.

“Collapsed lung. What happens when there’s a tear in the lung is that the vacuum that normally surrounds the lung fills with air and causes collapse. With a sucking chest wound, air is drawn into the lung with every indrawn breath and foamy blood and air are sprayed out with exhalation. Whoever thought to use the gauze and petroleum jelly may have saved his life.”

“It was Maggie,” Jeremy said.

“What do you do with a collapsed lung?” Maggie asked.

“We insert a chest tube into the pleural space between the chest wall and the lung. The tube is hooked to suction that removes the air and blood trapped inside. Once that’s removed, the lung can reexpand. Considering the amount of blood he lost, I have to say that he came through the surgery pretty well. We’ll be keeping him in ICU for the time being.”

“But he’s going to be all right?” Maggie demanded.

“Rio’s condition is serious, Maggie,” Nate Purdy said. “But he’s strong as a bull and he’s a fighter.” He gave her an awkward pat on the shoulder. “Why don’t you go home and try to get some rest?”

“Can I see him?”

Nate looked at Dr. Dekker, who nodded. “Just you for now, Maggie. And only for a couple of minutes. In the morning two at a time can go in for five minutes every three hours while he’s in ICU.”

“Then I’m staying the night,” Maggie said, her voice brooking no argument. “I have to be here to see him.”

“Somehow I thought you might say that,” Nate said with a smile. “I’ll have one of the nurses round up some pillows and blankets. You’ll need them before morning.”

While Maggie was being ushered into the intensive care unit, Eva went looking for her husband. It didn’t take a sleuth to figure out where she’d find him. He was seated in the hospital’s small chapel, his hands clasped together between his legs, his head bent as if he were staring at the floor. Anyone else might think he was deep in thought; Eva knew he was deep in prayer.

She stopped just inside the door, unwilling to interrupt whatever conversation her husband might be having with God. In a matter of seconds, almost as if he sensed her presence, he lifted his head, pushed himself to his feet and turned to face her. He looked older than he had earlier in the evening, when they’d joked about her Frederick’s of Hollywood outfit.

Eva fought the sudden urge to give in to the tears that had threatened ever since she’d heard the news about Rio. The only thing that had kept her dry-eyed was the knowledge that Maggie needed her strength.

“Hello, love,” Howard said with a crooked quirk of his lips as he motioned for Eva to join him. “How’s Rio?”

Eva negotiated the narrow aisle. “Out of surgery and in ICU. He has a collapsed lung, but he’s doing as well as can be expected.”

Howard nodded and patted the padded cushion beside him. They sat down, and Howard circled her shoulders with his arm, leaning his cheek against her hair. “How’s Margaret?”

“Honestly?”

“Honestly.”

“I’m worried about her.”

“So am I,” he confessed.

“It’s almost as if she blames God for what’s happened instead of Rick.”

“I know,” Howard said. “I heard.”

Eva drew back and looked into Howard’s beloved face. Tears glistened in her eyes as she whispered, “I have the strangest feeling of déjà vu, Howard. Like history is repeating itself.”

Howard nodded, his eyes mirroring the pain he felt at knowing that Maggie’s circumstances had resurrected old sorrows, old heartaches for Eva.

“That could be me in there,” she said, her voice breaking. “It is me…in a way. It would take a fool not to see how similar her situation is to mine back before we got married.”

“I know.”

Neither spoke for long moments. Eva was the first to break the silence. “We’ve got to tell her, Howard. She’s in so much pain.”

Though he’d suspected as much, Howard’s eyes filled with alarm. “Evie…We promised we’d never tell.”

“I have to!” Eva cried in a soft, desperate voice. “Didn’t you hear her say how she felt in limbo after Greg died…as if she was waiting for something and didn’t know what it was? I know exactly how she feels. I was going through the same thing the day you came knocking on my door.” In spite of her pain, a tremulous smile curved her lips. “It took me a long time to realize that what I was waiting for was you.”

Howard’s fingertips caressed her cheek with infinite tenderness. Eva took his hand in both of hers. Their fingers meshed tightly.

“Don’t you see, Howard? I have to tell Maggie not to give up and not to lose faith. Telling her about me—about us—will help her to understand that despite what’s happened to Rio, something wonderful might be just around the corner.”

Howard’s troubled eyes clung to his wife’s. “It might change how she feels about us.”

“It might,” she agreed. “But I’m willing to take that chance. If it helps her get through this, and strengthens her faith, it’ll be worth the risk.”

Howard shook his head and gave her a wry smile. “If you want to convince her not to give up, can’t you just tell her the story of Job?”

In spite of the seriousness of the situation, a glimmer of humor twinkled in Eva’s eyes. “I don’t think it would be the same, honey.”

He carried her hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles. His eyes were troubled. “I just don’t want you to be hurt. God knows you’ve had enough hurt to last a lifetime.”

“I want to do this, Howard.”

He closed his eyes. Finally, he spoke. “Sing to me, Evie.”

“Sing to you?” she asked, stunned by the request.

He nodded. “Sing ‘It Is Well with My Soul.’“

“How can you want me to sing when our daughter is in so much pain and Rio is lying in there—” Her voice broke again, and she swallowed hard.

“I’ve been praying nonstop since Jeremy called. God knows what’s in my heart. Sing. You sing like an angel.”

Eva smiled around her tears and began to sing about peace like a river and sorrows rolling like sea billows, her clear soprano voice echoing sweetly throughout the room. When she got to the part about all being well with her soul, no matter what came her way, a look of peace came over Howard’s features.

Eva clung to his hand and prayed with all her heart that it would be so with Maggie.

When Eva left Howard, she went in search of her daughter. Maggie was walking the hallway, examining the framed pictures on the wall as if they were some sort of costly art. Though she appeared to be engrossed, Eva knew her daughter’s thoughts were far away.

“Are you all right?” she asked, putting her arm around Maggie’s shoulders. Maggie nodded. “How’s Rio?”

Maggie turned her tortured gaze to her mother’s. “He’s so pale and still,” she said in a strained voice. “And he won’t answer me when I talk to him.”

“I imagine the anesthesia still has him out cold.”

“I guess.”

Eva sighed. In some ways Maggie’s lifelessness was more disturbing than her earlier anger. Anger could be channeled into something constructive. Passivity left nowhere to go.

“Maggie,” Eva began, “I’m worried about you.”

“I’m fine!” Maggie said in a sudden spurt of irritation. “It’s Rio you should be worried about.”

“I am worried about Rio, but I can’t help worrying about you, too. It isn’t like you to be so negative about everything you’ve been brought up to believe.”

Maggie looked at Eva, her eyes sparking with renewed anger. “How do you know whether it’s like me or not?” she challenged. “I haven’t been your innocent little Maggie in a long time. Face it, Mama, you don’t know me anymore.”

The words stung, but Eva was determined not to let on how much. “Maybe I don’t,” she said, “but contrary to the impression you give to others, you aren’t the kind of person who just lies down and lets life run over her. You’re a fighter, Maggie. You always were in your own quiet way. So why are you giving up now?”

“I’m not!”

“Well, it looks that way to me. Instead of looking for the best, you’re anticipating the worst. Instead of putting your trust in God, you’re turning your back on him and the strength he can give you.”

“I haven’t seen much of his loving care lately,” Maggie said.

Eva thought of the happiness Maggie and Rio had shared the past few months, of Rio’s slow but steady success in getting his business going. Maggie’s success in her work and the community’s gradual acceptance of Rio. How could she not believe in God’s loving care when her life was a walking testimony to his love?

Eva’s patience with her daughter snapped. “Oh, stop wallowing in self-pity, Margaret! You’re behaving as if you’re the only one in the world with a tragedy in her life.”

Maggie looked as if Eva had slapped her. Memories of their many battles during Maggie’s high school days rushed through Eva’s mind. As much as she loved her only daughter, they’d butted heads often in the past.

“What’s the old Indian saying about not judging a man until you’ve walked a mile in his moccasins?” Maggie said sarcastically. “It’s easy to be holier-than-thou when you have a nice cushy lifestyle, a wonderful husband who’s crazy about you and two healthy children who never gave you a moment’s worry. You’ve never lost a man you love, so don’t come preaching to me when you don’t have the slightest idea what I’m going through.”

At the end of her speech and her temper, Maggie turned away, intent on leaving. Eva grabbed her daughter’s arm in a tight grip. Maggie glared at her, her eyes bright with tears and fury.

“I do know what you’re going through,” Eva said.

“Oh, really?” Maggie’s face wore a look of patent disbelief.

“Really.”

“Did you and Daddy have a few little spats those early years, is that it?”

Eva’s lips tightened. “Sit down, Margaret,” she commanded in a firm voice. “There are some things we need to talk about—woman to woman. Some things you should have been told long ago.”

Even through her outrage and distress, Maggie heard the serious note underlying her mother’s voice. Her irritation fled. “What sort of things?” she asked, her voice wary…almost fearful.

“Things about me and your father and a baby I had before you and Ronald came along…”

Perhaps thirty minutes had passed since Howard’s talk with his wife. He stood staring out of the waiting room window at the light-flooded parking lot, wondering how things were going with Eva and Maggie, and whether Eva’s confession and story of regained faith would make any difference to how Maggie dealt with her situation.

He drew a deep breath. Even if it made no difference in Maggie’s feelings, he supposed she should be told the truth. She had a right to know what her parents were like in their youth. She should know that he had loved Eva for as long as he could remember.

And, he conceded, it might help ease some of the concerns about her own marriage to know that her parents hadn’t always seen eye to eye…that the young aspiring actress he’d married hadn’t always been the perfect preacher’s wife, and that their vastly different upbringings and ways of approaching life had caused some problems during their life together. Problems they’d overcome with love and God’s help.

Howard sighed. He knew he was fooling himself. There was no doubt the stories could help Maggie. His real concern was how breaking a forty-three-year-old silence would affect his wife.

Bowing his head, Howard prayed that Eva’s decision was the right one, that she would find the right words to tell Maggie the truth. That Maggie would forgive.

God answers prayers in three ways, Howard. Yes, no and wait a while.

Howard recalled his father’s words from his childhood. He realized all too well that people often questioned God’s wisdom and sometimes turned their backs on him when the answer to their prayers was a “no” and they so desperately wanted it to be “yes.”

Maggie had a right to know the truth so that she could see that God was in control, and that sometimes unanswered prayers were a blessing in disguise.