Ours for a Season by Kim Vogel Sawyer

Author:Kim Vogel Sawyer
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: The Crown Publishing Group
Published: 2018-09-10T16:00:00+00:00

22

Kansas City

Marty

“Why are you nervous?”

Marty shot a startled look at Charlotte. The two of them had chosen a pair of chairs in a small waiting room set aside for family members of patients undergoing surgery. They had the room to themselves, which Marty appreciated. She also appreciated Charlotte’s company so she didn’t have to wait alone during the two to three hours Brooke would be in an operating room. But she didn’t appreciate the question that held a note of admonition.

“It’s pretty hard not to be. Brooke looked so helpless…” Marty closed her eyes, remembering the lines trailing from Brooke’s hand, the paper cap covering her hair, the paleness of her skin. And the fear that seemed to pulsate from her friend. She opened her eyes and glared at the younger woman. “There are all kinds of risks when someone has surgery. And think about why she’s having it. She has cancer. That in itself is enough to make me nervous.”

Charlotte’s expression remained puzzled. “But we all prayed before we came. We put Brooke in God’s hands. We shouldn’t worry, because what better place is there for her to be?”

“Worry’s a waste of time.” Without warning, Great-Grandma Lois’s gentle admonition tiptoed through Marty’s memory. One of the farm dogs—Pepper or Jack?—had run off during the night, and Marty feared he wouldn’t return. She’d sobbed out her concern to Great-Grandma, expecting consolation. Great-Grandma had tenderly stroked Marty’s hair, an act of sympathy, but she hadn’t minced words. “It don’t solve anything. Just gives you indigestion. So don’t make worry a habit. If you’re gonna have a habit, let it be trusting the Lord, do you hear me, Martha Grace?”

Marty rose and paced to the opposite side of the room, a feeble attempt to escape her great-grandmother’s instruction. She prepared a cup of coffee—two sugars, powdered creamer, a sprinkle of cinnamon. She had no intention of drinking it, but it gave her something to do.

“We put Brooke in God’s hands.” Charlotte’s statement stung because Marty wasn’t part of the “we.” Not since her demand for God to take her away from Pine Hill had she sent up another prayer. She held Anthony’s hand when he prayed every morning and at bedtime. She bowed her head at the table when one of the men blessed the food. She sat reverently in the church pew when the minister or one of the leaders from the Southern Baptist church they attended in Lansing prayed out loud. But she hadn’t added her prayers early this morning when the entire team formed a circle and prayed for Brooke before the women set out for Kansas City. Great-Grandma Lois would be so disappointed that Marty hadn’t put Brooke in God’s hands, but she’d put her desire for motherhood in God’s hands and He’d crumbled it to dust. Why would she trust Him with her friend?

She reached for a stir stick, and someone touched her elbow. She jumped, knocking over the little cup of paper-wrapped stirrers. She turned

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