Tending Roses (21 page)

He rolled his eyes as if it were a tired subject. “It’s a little hard to sit around bouncing a baby on my knee when I’ve got a business to build and bills to pay.”

“I understand that.” I felt surprisingly calm, yet determined, as if I knew I was on the right path this time. “But the fact is, there will always be more work that can be done, more contracts you can get, one more little detailing job for James. There are tons of things I could and probably should be doing for work right now. But at some point, you have to put it aside and get busy with the things that really matter.”

Ben threw up his hands, looking helpless. “All right, I admit it. I’m just not very good with little babies. My dad never changed any diapers or washed any bottles. It didn’t scar us for life. I think you’re worrying too much.”

I took a deep breath. Ben’s family got along on the surface, but the truth was more complicated. “You’ve been complaining about your dad for as long as I can remember. He was never there. You never played football together. He didn’t have time to help you fix your bike, your car, your curveball. He never attended your baseball games, your football games, the school play. All he did was struggle fifteen hours a day to build a business, and everyone in your family seemed to think that was acceptable. But you always felt the absence, remember? Don’t you remember telling me that years ago? Don’t you remember us talking about how life shouldn’t be that way?” I raised my hands, pleading to be heard. “Why would you want to repeat that pattern?”

He tipped his chin up confidently, looking out the window as Oliver Mason’s car drove up in the twilight. “It’s not going to be like that with Josh and me.”

I sighed, watching Grandma come up the walk. “At what point do you intend to step into Josh’s life and make him your buddy? And what if, by the time you’re ready for him, he has already given up on you?”

Ben just turned and stared at me, blinking, as if maybe what I’d said had finally gotten through to him.

The supper call came from the kitchen, and our conversation ended. Ben was unusually quiet during dinner and through the rest of the evening. He went to sleep that night without a word, turned toward his side of the bed, not seeming angry, just silent. I wondered what he was thinking.

I lay on my side of the bed, staring out the window at the heavy full moon, thinking about Ben and me—where we had come from and where we were now. Ten years ago, we had arrived in Chicago with nothing but a little secondhand furniture and a stack of college loans to pay. At the time, the most important thing was to get the best-paying jobs we could and bury ourselves in the business of getting ahead. All we wanted at that point in our lives was to pay off the college loans. When we had the loans paid off, all we wanted was a new car. When we had the new car, all we wanted was a house, then a bigger house, then a boat, a country-club membership, a baby, a family . . .

Maybe we kept wanting more because all the possessions in our lives were taking us further away from the one thing we started out with—peace. When Ben and I were in college, we had nothing, but we could sit and talk for hours. We could laugh together at the littlest things. We could share nearly everything.

Now, even when our bodies were together, our minds were spinning ahead—to the next job site, the next round of bills to pay, the next meeting, the next fund-raiser, the new house . . . Ben and I had everything, but not the time to enjoy any of it. The problem was, I didn’t know how we were going to get off the carousel. It wouldn’t do me any good to get off alone. We had to do it together.

I closed my eyes and tried not to think about it anymore. Maybe a few more months at the farm would give us time to reconnect. Maybe Ben felt the same deep need. Maybe that was why he was so quick to consider staying at the farm for a while. Maybe, even if he didn’t know it yet, Grandma Rose’s magic was working on him too.

But in the morning, he was gone and there was a note saying he had some things to do and would meet us at church for the service.

Grandma had insisted the night before that we would all attend the last service before Christmas, and nobody was getting out of it. I was surprised when Ben said we would go, without even asking me, but I knew he was probably right in agreeing. Grandma would have worked herself into a fit if we’d refused.

I knew Grandma wouldn’t be happy to learn that Ben had gone to the office, but there wasn’t much I could do about it, so I rose and dressed, then went to the kitchen, where Aunt Jeane and Grandma were already starting breakfast.

Aunt Jeane looked toward the doorway. “Where is Ben this morning?”

“Gone.” I tried not to sound as embarrassed by his absence as I felt. “He left a note saying he had some things to do.”

Grandma drew back, giving me a horrified look as she set a platter of pancakes on the table. “Well, I hope he won’t miss service. We’re having the nativity and the handbell choir.
Everyone
will be there. It would be terrible if he missed it. Everyone will ask where he is, and with him using the offices at the church, it won’t seem right that he doesn’t attend Christmas service.”

“He said he would meet us there,” I replied quickly.

She went on as if she hadn’t heard me. “Now, don’t forget Dell Jordan will be coming by to ride to church with us. I told her to be here at ten-fifteen and not a minute later. It isn’t right to be late for service. Are you certain Ben knows what time to be there? You know, service begins at ten-fifty, not eleven o’clock. If he comes at eleven, he’ll be walking in late, and . . .”

“Grandma, he’ll be there. Stop worrying.” I sounded more sure than I felt. I hoped Ben didn’t get tied up on his computer and forget to come. Grandma would never let us hear the end of it.

As the morning wore on, Grandma latched on like a hound on a bone. Her complaints made me feel even worse about Ben’s absence. She fretted all the way through breakfast, getting out of her chair to check the driveway, speculating on what might be keeping him, asking me if he had taken dress clothes with him, or if I should bring some along.

I refused to check his closet and finally resorted to using one of her own lines. “Have a little faith, Grandma. He’ll be there.”
I hope . . .

Grandma huffed an irritated breath and went to the car, where she sat for fifteen minutes waiting impatiently for the rest of us to finish getting ready.

Uncle Robert laughed when she started honking the horn. “Sounds like we’d better get out there before she goes into a conniption.” He smiled at me as we walked out the door. “This is all Ben’s fault, you know. He didn’t stick with
the plan.
”

“Make sure you tell him that.” I was only partly joking. “All I can say is, he’d better be there.”

And he was, waiting at the curb like a valet, helping old ladies out of their cars and saying flattering things about their Christmas dresses. He had the whole over-seventy crowd giggling and blushing like a bunch of schoolgirls when we arrived. Grandma was no exception. He laid on a few compliments, and she instantly forgot that she’d been complaining about him all morning.

Aunt Jeane and I shrugged at each other, wishing we had that kind of magic.

Most of the congregation was gathered on the sidewalk enjoying the beautiful December morning. Standing in groups, they were laughing and talking, discussing what had been said in Sunday school, or how unusually warm the weather was, or sharing their Christmas plans.

We were barely out of the car when there was a knot of people around us, hugging me and Aunt Jeane, and telling Dell how charming she looked in the green daisy-print dress Grandma had found for her. Dell smiled shyly and clung to Grandma’s hand as the senior ladies updated Grandma on the progress toward the upcoming workday and delivery of Christmas dinners. The ladies quickly kidnapped Joshua, passing him around and arguing about who would watch him in the nursery. He giggled as three of them gathered the loose children and whisked them off to the church annex.

The high sounds of childish voices drifted away, leaving only the low hum of adult conversation. I had a sensation of being at my mother’s funeral. I was overwhelmed with the urge to run to the car and lock myself away.

Ben slipped his hand into mine as if he knew. “Been a while, huh?” he whispered. “Better get inside before lightning strikes us.”

Taking a deep breath, I turned toward the door as the chimes rang overhead. I walked slowly forward, clinging to Ben as to a lifeline.

The chapel was as I remembered it—two modest rows of ancient oak pews solemnly facing the pulpit and choir box. Behind the choir box was the wide window to the baptistry, added long after the church was built, so that baptisms would no longer have to take place in the river. I stared long at the old stained-glass window above the baptismal pool, studying the colored beams of sunlight that reflected on the water and floated around the room like angels. There had been no sunlight on the day of my mother’s funeral. Only darkness and a cold winter rain. I wasn’t certain if that was reality or just the memory of my own pain.

Grandma patted my hand and shifted to put a pillow behind her back as the organ started playing. Standing with our hymnals, we sang “Love Lifted Me” and “Joy to the World.” Beside me, I heard Ben’s deep baritone and Grandma’s high, thin soprano and Dell’s light, sweet voice. The words of the song drifted through my soul, lighting the blackness within, taking away old pain. Closing my eyes, I heard the words from my childhood, heard my own voice singing like my mother’s, Dell’s singing like mine, Grandma’s just as I’d always remembered it, crackling high above all the others. A wonderful sense of renewal filled me. Time passes, I thought, but memories do not.

I sat holding Ben’s hand, feeling thankful that we were there together as we listened to the handbells play “Away in a Manger,” and watched the children file in to complete the manger scene at the front of the church.

Afterward, Brother Baker took the pulpit and began a sermon on the humble birth of Christ and the greatness of God’s gift to the world. It was a lesson I remembered from some childhood Christmas visit, spoken in exactly the same way now as then, same words, same inflections, same look of passion in Brother Baker’s eyes. There was comfort in the fact that some things never change. It was as if the church had been waiting in suspended animation all the time I was away.

As the sermon concluded, Brother Baker gripped the sides of the pulpit, bowing his head for a moment as he always did, to give his message time to sink in. The silence was more powerful than the volume of the sermon.

The pause was uncustomarily short. Brother Baker took a deep breath but didn’t look at us, and spoke almost in a whisper. “This week a young father came to me, confused about his role in the family. He was wondering what his duties were to his child and how he would know if he was fulfilling them. I can’t tell you all that he said to me or exactly what I said in reply. I can tell you that he reminded me of myself when I was a young man. There were so many nights when I was busy with my ministry, or away on missions. My children grew up while I was doing other things, all of which seemed very important at the time.” He paused, letting out a long sigh, then slowly raised his head and looked at us, his blue eyes glittering.

“I won’t be with you this afternoon or next Sunday. My son, John, and my grandson, Caleb, have been put in the hospital after a car accident this morning. John will be going in for surgery this afternoon, and I ask that all of you remember him in prayer. I also ask that this afternoon you spend time with your own families. Young parents, hold your children a little longer today. Kiss them when you put them into bed tonight, say their prayers with them, sit by them while they fall asleep. Your children are the greatest gift God will give to you, and their souls the heaviest responsibility He will place in your hands. Take time with them, teach them to have faith in God. Be a person in whom they can have faith. When you are old, nothing else you’ve done will have mattered as much.”

Tears clouded my eyes as he came forward to kneel with the church elders and pray. No one moved. We sat together and prayed.

When the service concluded, we walked forward to congratulate the children who had performed in the manger scene and to give Brother Baker our best wishes.

The line finally dwindled, and Ben walked Brother Baker to the side door. My mind drifted to the end of the sermon.
Your children are the greatest gift God will give to you, and their souls the heaviest responsibility He will place in your hands. When you are old, nothing else you’ve done will have mattered . . .

I wondered if Ben had been listening, if the words would mean anything to him or make any difference. It seemed that he had come to like and respect Brother Baker. . . .

A breeze blew suddenly from the open door, lifting the papers on the pulpit. I glanced over just in time to see Brother Baker take Ben’s face in his hands and lean his forehead into Ben’s. In that instant, I knew Ben was the young father who had sought counsel.

The fears and doubts in my heart were lifted like the papers from the pulpit and gently cast away.

After the service, Uncle Robert treated everyone to lunch at the cafe. The mood there was subdued because of the tragedy in Brother Baker’s family. People dining around us spoke quietly about how terrible it was for such a thing to happen at Christmas, and how it made you realize how fortunate you were to have all of your family together and healthy. Grandma said that sometimes the Lord showed us the suffering of others so that we might be thankful for our own blessings.

She looked at me when she said it, and I nodded with a lump in my throat. I looked at my husband and my son, at my family around me, and I was thankful.

During the drive home, Grandma discovered that Dell’s home had no Christmas tree, and that became her immediate source of concern. When we got to the farm, she insisted that we change clothes immediately and drive the old flatbed truck to the pasture, so that Dell could select a small cedar tree to take home with her.