To Love and Honor (8 page)

In the afternoon, two delegations from the church called on her. The personal care ministry group had already organized several women, one of whom would come daily for a few hours to provide food, to help with the cleaning, laundry or any other housekeeping needs. The prayer ministry had set aside a fifteen-minute segment of their day to pray specifically for the support of Violet and her mother during the agonizing days ahead. She was given a list of six people, including Roger, who pledged instant support—she was to telephone one of them any hour of the night or day if she had an emergency.

When Violet went to bed that evening, she felt amazed and overwhelmed at the compassionate response of her fellow church members. Their support buoyed her confidence about her ability to cope with her mother in the days to come. Yet, she still dreaded tomorrow when she would be confronting her fellow workers, who might not be as understanding as those of her church family.

Aunt Ruth telephoned early the next morning, stating that she would arrive in Maitland on Tuesday.
Knowing that she would have her aunt beside her when her mother arrived made the day easier, but still she drove with trepidation to the school building. Surely she didn't imagine the chilly atmosphere when she walked into the office to punch the time clock, or the sudden hush of conversation when she passed small groups of students. The hallway, before she could reach the sanctuary of her room, looked as long as a mile. Once she had read a book titled,
The Longest Walk,
dealing with a condemned prisoner's path to the gallows. This morning, she understood that man's mental and emotional disturbance. She held her back straight, smiled and spoke as she usually did, but her legs were wobbly, and her hands trembled by the time she reached her classroom door and inserted the key into the lock.

Violet placed her roll book, lesson plans and textbook on the top of her desk. She wheeled the overhead projector into place, checked to see that the lightbulb was all right, and adjusted a transparency, illustrating the structure of Congress, on the lighted top.

The door opened and Nan glided into the room. She pulled Violet into a tight embrace. “I just heard,” she said. “I don't have time for more than a quick hug now, but you know you can count on me.”

Nan's encouragement did bolster her through a day fraught with tension. Three students from prominent Maitland families were withdrawn from her classes, and she had to endure stares from her students—looks of pity, suspicion, amusement and resentment.

At the end of the day, Nan walked with Violet to the parking lot. “In case you wonder, the school is pretty evenly divided in their sentiments. One group of teachers and students think you should be asked to
resign and move your mother out of the city, but don't let that bother you, your contract is too airtight to be broken because of something your mother did.”

“But they have the power to make me so uncomfortable that I want to quit.”

“Your supporters, both students and teachers, believe that it's ridiculous to elevate this situation to such proportions, while at the same time pointing out that many of your accusers have skeletons in their own family closet. If we look far enough, there might even be a few among the Hollands. This may turn the school into a battleground,” Nan added, obviously intrigued over the prospect.

“Oh, dear!” Violet exclaimed. “That must not happen. Why can't they just ignore my plight?”

“There's no excitement in that. You know how people are. They will ride this new hobbyhorse until something more interesting comes along, but don't be surprised if it takes a while to run its course.” Nan looked at her keenly. “How's Mr. Holland reacting to this?”

“I haven't seen him today. But I told him everything Saturday morning before anyone else knew, so that he wouldn't receive the information secondhand.”

“I just wondered which side could depend upon his support.”

“As a good principal, he had better not choose sides.”

“As a good principal, that's true,” Nan conceded as she climbed into her minivan, “but as a boyfriend what should he do?”

Violet had been hurt when Larry hadn't even stopped by her room or contacted her in some way,
but she couldn't handle facing that now, not even with Nan.

When she arrived home from school, there was a note on the door from one of her church friends. “There's a chicken casserole and some homemade rolls on the kitchen cabinet. I got the key from your next-door neighbor. Enjoy!”

How considerate, Violet thought. When she went out on the front porch to retrieve her mail, she looked in amazement at her two rosebushes. They had been pruned and mulched for winter. It was humbling to see such evidence of Christian love in action.

“Thank you, God, for such thoughtful people.”

Violet hadn't been home more than an hour when Roger telephoned. “How did you get along today?”

“Only two people said anything nasty to me personally, but Nan tells me that the students and faculty are split down the middle—those who support me and those who believe I should be run out of town. If the situation becomes volatile, you may have to come and restore order.”

“I had the students' version from Misty. She told me that some of the ‘snooty kids,' as she called them, had transferred out of your class.”

“Yes, three of them, and I won't be surprised if there are more.”

“You're the favorite topic of conversation around town, too.”

Violet moaned. “I did expect some reaction, but certainly nothing like this. It's so frustrating that I feel like screaming sometimes.”

“Go ahead and scream if it will make you feel better.” He waited a few moments, and when she didn't
take advantage of his offer, Roger added, “Do you need me for anything tonight?”

“No, thank you.”

“I'll be in all evening, so telephone if necessary. Jason and I are going to watch the ball game.”

Nan also called later that night to see how Violet was feeling. In spite of the support of her friends, by bedtime, Larry still hadn't contacted her, and Violet went to bed dispirited and disappointed.

 

Wednesday—the dreaded day started out like any other. Violet had done her best to make her mother's room bright and welcoming with fresh curtains, an afghan in soothing shades of blue and a vase of fresh flowers. Aunt Ruth had arrived early the night before, and since they didn't know what time her mother would be delivered, Violet went on to school. Her aunt would be able to manage any situation.

Ruth Reed was a stalwart fifty-year-old. Her sturdy form had developed during the years she had traveled to ancient sites with her archaeologist husband. She wore her auburn hair short and curly, and her brown eyes usually sparkled with good humor. She had an air of calm and quiet competency, and Violet felt strengthened the minute Ruth walked into the house. With Ruth's help, she would be able to cope.

When the ambulance arrived at five o'clock, a group of curious spectators gathered on the street opposite Violet's house. She wondered how Roger knew of the arrival, but his white police cruiser pulled into the curb before the ambulance driver was out of the car. A uniformed prison guard had traveled in the ambulance, so Violet realized more than ever that theirs was a wise decision to avoid secrecy. Roger and the driver
carried the stretcher into the house, and a nurse followed, holding the intravenous equipment to which Linda was attached.

“How did she stand the trip?” Ruth inquired.

“With difficulty,” the nurse replied. “Sometimes I wonder at the decisions of those in authority. They try to do the humanitarian thing, I know, but this woman shouldn't have been moved so far away.”

Violet scanned her mother's features as they carried her into the bedroom and moved her body to the hospital bed. If possible, she looked even worse than when they had seen her a few days ago.

“I believe she will rally, however,” the nurse said.

“At a time like this, one should be with family. So maybe it's for the best.”

Linda had been sedated for the trip, but as Violet arranged the covers on her bed over her frail body, Linda's eyes flickered open.

Violet covered her mother's hand with her own. “You're home now,” she told her. Linda smiled weakly and closed her eyes.

Out in the living room, the nurse explained a large file of records and a list of medications to Ruth and Violet, adding instructions on how to submit Linda's medical bills to the Kansas authorities. “You will also have to report monthly to a local parole officer on your mother's status, but in her condition that's a mere formality. Besides, Lieutenant Gibson has guaranteed her security.”

The ambulance driver brought in Linda's possessions, pitiful in their scarcity—one cardboard carton, and a small locked metal box.
Not much to show for a lifetime!
Violet put them in the closet in her mother's room. She hadn't considered that Linda wouldn't have
any clothing, but naturally they wouldn't issue her prison garments when she was no longer incarcerated.

Violet felt a moment of panic when she saw the ambulance leave her driveway, and she glanced over to Roger, looking strong and in control in his uniform. Ruth must have noticed the glance for she said, with a twinkle in her eye, “I surely feel safe to be under the protection of the law.” She extended her hand to Roger. “I'm Violet's aunt, Ruth Reed.”

“Oh, excuse me,” Violet exclaimed. “I'm not thinking too straight right now. Aunt Ruth, this is Roger Gibson, a wonderful friend. Without his help I couldn't have handled this situation.”

Violet could tell that Roger and Ruth established an instant rapport. But why wouldn't they? One would have to search a long time to find any other two people who exemplified
all
the gifts of the Spirit—
love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.
With the two of them supporting her, Violet felt empowered to face any crisis.

After Roger left, Ruth and Violet checked Linda, who was still fast asleep.

“Probably the best thing we can do is to let her sleep,” Ruth said. “The nurse mentioned that they gave her a sedative through the IVs so she would relax during the trip. The hospice people will be here tomorrow, and they will advise us on how to minister to her.”

While they ate the supper of roast beef, baked potatoes, peas and cole slaw that had been delivered ready to eat, Violet said, “I don't know how to treat her, Aunt Ruth. You know how I longed for a mother all through my childhood, but I finally put her out of my life, and it's so full now that there doesn't seem
to be any room for her. I want to love her, I really do,” Violet quietly insisted. “But still, I find it difficult to forgive her for neglecting me all of my life.”

“Forgiveness is an important part of healing,” Ruth said.

“I know that, and I want to forgive, but I don't think I have—at least I haven't forgotten my hurt.” She mused on this predicament for a few minutes, and then she said, “I will need to go to the mall and buy some clothes for her, if you don't mind staying alone for a short time.”

“No, I'll be fine, and, Violet, I intend to help you with these extra expenses. She's your mother, true, but she's also my sister, and I, too, have an obligation.”

“I'll have to accept your help, I know,” Violet said humbly, “but I don't want to—you've done enough for us already.”

“I'm here because I want to be, so it isn't necessary to be apologetic. I know you want to make your mother as comfortable as possible these last days. Heaven knows, the poor woman has suffered,” Ruth added, “but you can't make up for a lifetime in a few weeks.”

“You don't think she will live long?”

Ruth shrugged her shoulders. “It's hard to tell, but if she's alive in two months I'll be surprised.”

“I see,” Violet replied quietly. As she selected clothes for her mother, Ruth's words echoed in her thoughts. Though her feelings about this reunion were confused, she had to do her best to put aside her anger. There would be no second chances to get to know her mother.

Within two days Linda had regained some strength, and they put her in a wheelchair and brought her to
the dining area for the evening meal. Although her chemotherapy had been discontinued, Linda still had little appetite and she picked at her food. She did show an interest in Violet's house, however. Ruth wheeled her to the window so that she could see the small backyard where Violet's beds of perennials were mulched for the winter.

Ruth took her into the living room, and they watched television while Violet loaded the dishwasher, but sitting in a chair sapped Linda's strength, and they assisted her back to bed.

Their days soon settled into a routine. Violet slept in the single bed in the living room, while Ruth spent the night in Violet's room, so if Linda needed help, Violet wouldn't be disturbed. The hospice representative came each morning to check Linda's vital signs and give whatever assistance was needed, a nurse's aide came twice each week to bathe Linda, and in early afternoon, when the volunteer from the church was in the house, Ruth went to Violet's room for a nap. Janie Skeen came quite often to read to Linda.

Violet wanted to believe that Ruth was wrong about Linda's length of life, but in her heart, she knew that her mother would not live much longer. She didn't know how she could bridge a gulf of twenty-three years in a few weeks, but she was determined to try.

She rushed home from school each evening, not so much to relieve Ruth, but because she wanted to spend some quality time with her mother. If Linda wasn't able to come to the table, Violet personally prepared her mother's supper tray and carried it to the bedroom, and she stayed with Linda while she ate.

Since Linda seemed eager to know about Violet's childhood, they spent hours poring over photograph
albums, and Linda's rare smile flashed when she saw pictures of Violet on her first bicycle, in her swimsuit at church camp, the day she turned sixteen, and the day she graduated from high school.