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  It was the wrong thing to say, and suddenly, Steve’s soft look hardened. “Wait a minute. I thought you just apologized. What was it exactly that you were apologizing for?”

  “For overriding you. For doing it when you didn’t agree that I should.”

  He nodded, like he just now understood. “Okay. So you’re sorry you did that, but you still stand behind your reasons for doing it.”

  “Not exactly.”

  He breathed a laugh and shook his head. “Well, excuse me for being dense. It’s just that an apology doesn’t sound very heartfelt when it’s followed with more argument.”

  “I’m not arguing, Steve. I’m just asking if it could even be possible that I’m right for once?”

  He narrowed his eyes and stared at her. “Did you think you were going to apologize, and that would lead me into saying, ‘No, no, I’m the one who’s sorry. I should have jumped on board with the car, because you were absolutely right’? Is that what prompted the apology?”

  “No. Of course I didn’t expect that. And the apology was prompted because I don’t want you mad at me.”

  He sat back down on the bed and stared at his knees. “Good, because that’s not going to happen. I still think that you were wrong. You think you have to make it up to Mark for the year he was in jail. But you’re wrong when you start trying to spoil him and make things easy for him. He still needs structure and firmness. He needs to have to strive for things and know the satisfaction of achieving them. It’s not good for him to just lie around the house when we’ve told him he needs to get a job.”

  “He’s looking, Steve. You know that. And he’s studying.”

  Cathy heard Nickelodeon blaring from the living room, and she stepped to the door and peered out into the living room. Tracy still hadn’t turned off the television. Instead, she sat on the floor in front of it.

  “Tracy, I told you to turn off the television and go to bed,” she called out, then turned around to Steve. “Why are you so tough on Mark but you let Tracy get away with murder?”

  “Get away with murder?” he asked. “What are you talking about?”

  “She’s disobeying this very moment, and you haven’t said a word about it.”

  Steve sprang off of the bed and headed to the doorway. “Tracy, turn off the television now and get to your bed!” he yelled.

  Cathy hadn’t expected that. She watched Tracy turn around with startled eyes. “What did I do, Daddy?”

  “You didn’t mind Cathy. Now do what I said.”

  She turned off the television and headed quickly up the hall.

  When he turned around, he looked like the wind had been knocked out of him. “Are you happy?”

  Cathy grunted. “See how it is? You hate disciplining her, but you don’t mind being hard-nosed with my kids. I understand your points about Mark, but Tracy’s disobedience goes right over your head. You treat my kids differently than yours.”

  He started to protest, then caught himself and sank down on the bed. “It shouldn’t be different,” he said. “I don’t mean for it to be.”

  “Well, it is, and it’s normal. I do it, too. I’m soft with my kids, but less tolerant with Tracy. There’s grace involved when you’re parenting your own child. But there’s more law between the stepparent and the child. God is a lot like our parent, and the law is like our stepparent. When we have the Holy Spirit it’s pure grace, but when we’re under the law, it’s hard-nosed and objective…but without grace.”

  He got quiet and tried to process that. “Grace versus law. That’s an interesting perspective.”

  Relieved, Cathy wondered where her words had come from. She’d never thought of the situation exactly in those terms before, and yet the words had spilled out of her mouth. But there was wisdom there, she thought. And it might be the key to learning how to make their stepfamily work.

  “Think of it,” she said. “Think of it from Tracy’s perspective. I told her to go to bed, and she didn’t. You didn’t see any reason why she couldn’t stay up. So I get mad at you for not taking action…”

  “I just didn’t see any harm in letting her watch TV when it’s Friday night.”

  “And I didn’t see the harm in buying Mark a nice car. It’s grace, Steve. You give grace to Tracy, and I give grace to Mark. I’m not suggesting that you get tougher on Tracy. I’m just saying that if we could treat each other’s kids with more grace and less law, we’d have a happier family.”

  He looked down at his sock feet. “You may have a point.”

  “I’m trying to learn, Steve.” Tears shone in her eyes, and she went to sit next to him. She slid her arm across his shoulder. “I’m really trying to understand about dying to myself and submitting to you. It just doesn’t come easy, not for a woman who’s been going it alone for so long.”

  He reached for her hand at his shoulder, and laced his fingers through it. “It’s okay. We’re both still adjusting. We’re going to make it. We’ve just got a few glitches to work out.”

  “Do you think so?” she asked. “Are you sure we aren’t going to be mad at each other for the rest of our lives?”

  He smiled and looked at her. “I couldn’t be if I tried. You’re just too irresistible.”

  Grace instead of law. It was the nature of their marriage, too.

  CHAPTER

  Forty-Two

  Sylvia woke soaking wet. The hot flashes had been almost debilitating for the past few weeks, even when she was having her good days after the treatments.

  She got out of bed, careful not to wake Harry, and went into the bathroom. Her clothes needed changing again. Exhausted from her constantly interrupted sleep, she turned on the shower, shed her clothes, and got into it.

  The cold water ran over her body, washing away the perspiration and cooling her off. Despair rolled over her too, threatening to pull her under. She leaned against the shower’s wall, letting the water spray into her face.

  And softly, she began to sing. “A mighty fortress is our God…”

  It wasn’t a magic formula that made her symptoms stop, cured her cancer, or solved her problems. It just made her feel better to adore her God and remember that he was her defender and her refuge against the enemies assaulting her. It got her mind off of herself and onto him.

  It didn’t happen right away, and as the depression hung on, she told herself that she didn’t feel like singing. But she sang anyway.

  Finally, by the third verse, she felt the depression dripping away like the sweat that had awakened her. Her spirits lifted, and hope seeped back into her bones.

  She got out and dried off and tried to focus ahead. She would probably feel all right by Thanksgiving, just six days away. The kids were all flying home just for the day, because Jeff and Gary, Sarah’s husband, had to work the Friday after. Harry had insisted on letting a local restaurant cook the dinner, so they’d just have to warm it up before the meal. She hoped she’d have more energy to put into Christmas. Her sixth treatment date fell just three days before Christmas, but her doctor had agreed to postpone it until the following week, so that she would feel good. She was thankful for that.

  Breanna would be eighteen months by Christmas, and Sylvia couldn’t wait to see her toddling around their house, fascinated by their tree, tearing into the presents.

  It was dreadfully important to have the best Christmas she’d ever had this year. But to do it, she would have to start now.

  With thoughts of decorations and food and family coming to visit, she went back into the bedroom.

  Harry had the lamp on and was changing the sheets.

  “Harry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “It’s okay, honey. I wanted to change the sheets for you.”

  “They were soaking wet,” she said. “Another hot flash.”

  He smoothed the fresh sheet out. “All dry now.”

  She sighed. “Until the next one.”

  “We have more sheets,” he said. “Plenty of them.”

  She craw
led back into bed and curled up next to her husband. Gratitude filled her heart again for the man who had chosen to be her life partner and had never faltered in fulfilling that promise.

  She had much to be thankful for.

  As hard as Sylvia tried to put on her best face for Thanks-giving Day, she realized that her children saw her as a sick, possibly dying woman. The look on Sarah’s face when Harry brought her in from the airport spoke volumes.

  “Oh, Mom…” She burst into tears and threw her arms around Sylvia. Sylvia held her, rocking back and forth. Sarah just cried.

  And then Jeff came in, and she saw the startled look on his face. He quickly rallied. “Hey, Mom. You look great.”

  She hugged him. “Don’t give me that. I must look awful, judging by the looks on your faces. Come on, I spent all morning fixing up for you. Now where are Gary and Breanna?”

  Sarah wiped her eyes. “Gary’s getting her out of the car seat.” She touched Sylvia’s face. “Mom, are you sure you’re all right?”

  “Yes!” she said. “Chemo is no picnic, but I’m doing fine. It’s not the cancer you see, honey, but the side effects of the medicine. I’ve gained a little weight, so I might look a little puffy. And my skin color would make Elizabeth Arden cringe. But it’s temporary, guys. It’s going to be okay.”

  Harry burst through the door, carrying the baby in his arms, and Gary came in behind him with the suitcases. Sylvia gasped and reached out for the child, and as she got to know her grandchild, the seriousness faded, and the joy of Thanksgiving filled the house.

  When they sat down for the meal, Harry asked them each to tell what they were most thankful for in the past year. Sarah muttered something about her child and marriage, Jeff said he was thankful that they could all be together today, Gary said he was thankful for Sarah and Breanna, and Harry said he was thankful for all the opportunities the Lord had given them to serve him.

  When it was Sylvia’s turn, she hesitated a moment and looked from her daughter to her son. They watched her, waiting to see if she could truly be thankful for anything in this state. So she surprised them.

  “I’m thankful for my cancer.”

  Sarah’s face twisted. “Mom, how can you say that?”

  “It’s easy,” Sylvia said. “God gave it to me as an opportunity…a gift. I can use it. I’m not sure how yet…he hasn’t revealed all that to me. It might be to support other cancer patients when I’ve gotten through this. Or it might be just to prove his faithfulness. But whatever the case, he’s going to use it to bear fruit through me. I know he is. And that’s what I’m here for, isn’t it? To bear fruit. If I can do that better because of my cancer, then why shouldn’t I be thankful for it?”

  Her words didn’t bring a smile to either of their faces. Gary reached over and took Sarah’s hand, a silent gesture of support as she struggled to hold back her tears. Harry patted Jeff’s shoulder, as her son stared at the turkey at the end of the table.

  Breanna began to bang on her tray, demanding attention and food. It broke the ice and made them all laugh, and she became thankful for that, too.

  As they dug into the meal, she silently asked the Lord to make her even more thankful. The cancer was a gift, she knew. She just needed the courage and strength to use it fully.

  Thanksgiving came and went, and Sylvia felt good about the facade she’d shown the kids. They had put them back on their planes that night with smiles on their faces, and promises to see them next month for Christmas.

  But her fifth treatment knocked her out again.

  Still, as soon as she was able, Sylvia forced herself out of bed. She had too much to do to get ready for Christmas, and she wasn’t going to let her cancer ruin it.

  She made her way through the woods at the back of her property, a garbage bag in one hand and a pair of pruning shears in the other. Now and then she would spot a tree that was perfect for trimming branches that could be made into garland, or the wreath that she had made every Christmas for years.

  Harry trudged through the woods behind her with his own garbage bag and shears, but she knew he wasn’t interested in the live wreath that she planned to create. He had come just to make sure she didn’t fall in the woods.

  “Honey, you know this isn’t necessary,” he said. “We could go to one of those craft stores and buy a bunch of fake garland this year. Everybody else in the world does it. Some of it is really beautiful.”

  Sylvia shot him a disgusted look. “I do real garland, and I’ve been known to make the most beautiful wreaths in Tennessee. I’m not going to stop now.”

  “But I’m not sure you’re up to this. I don’t even know how you’ve made it this far out here.”

  “I’m fine.” The truth was, she wasn’t fine. She had spent the night throwing up, and she hadn’t been able to eat a thing this morning. Her legs shook with each step, but she was determined. “I want the house to look just like it always looks at Christmas. The kids are scared enough. I want normalcy, joy, excitement this Christmas.”

  “They would understand this time. In fact, they’d probably love to help decorate.”

  “By the time they come for Christmas, it’s going to be done. We have a grandbaby this year. I want her to walk in and see the wonders of Christmas.”

  Harry didn’t argue anymore. She found a stump and sat down, tried to catch her breath. A feeling of nausea rose up over her, but she fought it until it was gone. The brisk air against her face made this a little easier.

  When she had gotten all she needed, she went back to the house for a nap. She would rest for a while, then get up and wire the garland together and make her famous wreath. In fact, she might just make one for each of her neighbors.

  She heard Harry in the garage, pulling out boxes of lights. She knew he did it just to please her. Usually, she had to beg and plead with him to get it done by the second week in December. December was still two days away, but Harry was getting it done.

  In bed, she prayed that the Lord would give her uncanny strength to make this a wonderful Christmas for her children and her grandchild, because she knew he had given her no guarantees that there would be another one for her.

  CHAPTER

  Forty-Three

  What’re you doing, Dr. Harry?”

  Harry turned from the lights he was hanging on the bushes in front of their house and saw Joseph standing with his hands in his pockets.

  “Hanging lights. Wanna help?”

  “Sure.” Joseph unwound the spool on which Harry had wrapped them the last time he’d taken them down, and fed it to Harry. “It’s early for Christmas lights, isn’t it?”

  “Sylvia has her heart set on getting it done early. I think she’s worried she won’t have that many good days, so she’s giving herself plenty of time.”

  “I know what her problem is.”

  Harry turned back to the boy. “You do?”

  “Yes. She’s not having any fun. She needs to have fun. When I was sick, my mom tried to make me have fun, and it helped. It gets your mind off of your problems.”

  Harry finished the bush and plugged it in to test it. The lights came on. Satisfied, he unplugged them again. “So what do you suggest, Joseph?”

  “Well, what’s the most fun she’s ever had?”

  “She likes playing with our granddaughter. And all the kids back at the orphanage in León.”

  “But they’re not here.” Joseph kept unwinding the lights. “Miss Sylvia used to have a lot of fun when she rode your horses.”

  Harry smiled and took the strand of lights from him. “Yes, she did. But that was quite a few years ago.”

  “She’d still like it, I bet.” He got to the end of the strand and handed it to Harry. “I wish you hadn’t had to sell them for me.”

  Harry turned back to the child. “Joseph, everyone in town was trying to help out with your transplant expenses. It was the least we could do, especially when we were about to go to the mission field.”

  “Yeah, I know. And I ap
preciate it. I really do. But maybe you could get another horse for Miss Sylvia, just until she’s better.”

  Harry wrapped the lights, letting that idea filter through his mind. “I don’t know, Joseph. She might be too weak to ride.”

  “But it would get her out into the fresh air, because she’d want to talk to it and pet it and feed it and stuff. And I could help, you know. When you two didn’t feel like feeding it or cleaning the stables, I could do it. I remember how.”

  Harry crossed his arms and looked down at Joseph. Brenda had always said that Joseph had an uncanny wisdom that few children his age had. Now Harry believed it. “You know, you could be right, Joseph. Maybe it would be good for her. Give her something else to love. Something to take care of.”

  Joseph nodded, his round face very serious. “Because she had to give up so much, leaving Nicaragua and all. She’s probably mourning for all those kids and stuff. And if you got her a really good horse, she’d fall right in love with it.”

  “But what about when she’s well and we go back to Nicaragua?”

  “You could sell it,” Joseph said. “Maybe I could buy it. I could start saving now…”

  Harry grinned. “What about riding it? Do you think you could ride it for us if Sylvia didn’t feel like it? Just to give him exercise?”

  “Sure.” Joseph’s whole face grinned. “I’d love to do that.”

  Harry had caught the vision. He pictured Sylvia sitting out on the back porch, instructing Joseph in brushing the horse, cooling it down, putting on the saddle and taking it off. It would go so far in getting her mind off of her illness. She might even bounce back faster from her chemo if she got the fresh air and exercise she needed.

  “Joseph! Supper!” Brenda’s voice cut across the yard.

  “I gotta go,” Joseph said. “Sorry I couldn’t help more, but I can come back after supper.”

  “No, I’m almost done,” Harry said. “Besides, you did help a lot. I’m going to think about what you said.”

  They slapped hands, then Joseph took off running across the yards. Harry watched, moved, at the exuberance and health in the boy, when he’d come so close to death not so long ago.