When Tomorrow Comes Page 12

  “Oh, my dear—”

  “No—it’s all right, Mom. Really. If Aunt Mary needs me, then I’ll go.”

  “But it sounds like such a good opportunity. This job. I’d hate for you to lose it.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “Would the job still be there for you in a couple of weeks?”

  Christine bit her lip. “I don’t think so. No. The poor assistant is nearly out of her mind trying to keep up.”

  “I’m sorry. I’d go myself, but I—”

  “No, Mom. This is the easiest solution and least upsetting to everyone,” Christine said firmly. “Do you want to call Uncle Jon or shall I?”

  “If . . . if you’re sure . . . I’ll call him. Tonight. You’re sure?”

  Elizabeth asked again. “I wouldn’t like you to jeopardize your career, Christine, and neither would your uncle Jon.”

  “Tell him I’ll be down on tomorrow’s train.”

  Christine scarcely heard any more of the conversation. Her thoughts were whirling, and her head was beginning to ache. Was she passing up an opportunity of a lifetime? She didn’t know. Perhaps she wouldn’t even have gotten the job. Maybe one of the other interviewees would be chosen. But Mr. Stearns said he must go through with the appointments as promised. A formality, he said. Doesn’t that sound like . . . like he’s already made up his mind?

  Well, it couldn’t be helped. Aunt Mary needed her. Surely she could trust God with the future.

  True to her word, the receptionist’s phone call came right at ten. As Christine ran down to the lobby, she wasn’t sure what she was hoping to hear. If the woman said, “I’m sorry, but you didn’t get the job,” at least Christine would feel she had not sacrificed a dream job for the sake of her aunt Mary. That God had known all along and was preparing something else for her. On the other hand, it would be another blow to her already fragile confidence if the receptionist informed her that they had decided she wouldn’t do after all.

  But it was an enthusiastic voice that greeted her on the other end of the crackling line. “You got the job—no contest,” the woman enthused.

  Christine shut her eyes tightly and bit her lip.

  “Miss Delaney. Are you there?”

  Christine managed to say that she was.

  “You got the job.”

  “I’m . . . I’m so sorry. Something has come up. I just got a call last night. My aunt . . . she has fallen and will be bedridden. I . . . I need to go to care for her.”

  The line went silent.

  “Your aunt?” the voice finally said.

  “Yes.”

  Another silence.

  “Here in the city?”

  “No. No, in Calgary.”

  “So you have to go out of town?”

  “Yes. I’m afraid so.”

  “For how long?” All of the enthusiasm had left the voice.

  “I’m . . . I’m not sure. At least for two weeks . . . maybe longer. It depends.”

  “We . . . we can’t possibly wait for two weeks.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I’m terribly sorry I . . . I really wanted that job. Really.”

  A long sigh traveled over the phone line. “I’m sorry too.

  Mr. Stearns was so pleased with your qualifications, and I . . . I really thought we could work well together.”

  “Thank you. I thought so too.”

  “There’s no one else . . . to go?”

  “No. No . . . we’ve already exhausted the list of possibilities.”

  “Well,” the woman sighed again, “I guess there is nothing more to say except good luck, then. Sorry it didn’t work out.”

  “Please . . . please tell Mr. Stearns that I’m dreadfully sorry. I . . . I appreciated his . . . his consideration of me. I’m sure I would have enjoyed working for him.”

  “I’ll tell him.”

  “And thank you. I . . . I do hope you find someone to . . . to help you out. Very soon. I’m sorry.”

  Christine felt numb as she replaced the receiver. Why? Why did it happen like this? She had asked God for a job, and the perfect one had come along—one she had just been offered. So why had Aunt Mary’s fall come at just the wrong time? She would never understand. Never.

  But Christine could not let herself wallow in self-pity for long. She had a train to catch and very little time to get to the station. She called a cab. She couldn’t possibly walk and carry all her things. She counted out the cash in her purse. She would have enough for the cab fare and her train ticket and very little more. Once she got to Uncle Jon’s, of course, she would have accommodations and food.

  Swallowing her great disappointment, she hauled her suitcases and boxes to the lobby and stood near the door so she could watch for her ride to the station.

  Christine rested her head against the high seat back as many other travelers had done throughout the years. The uneventful train ride was giving her time—too much time—to think. This was not the way it was to work out. This was not what she had planned. Was there really a purpose in all of this? Was she doing the right thing? Surely she would have few opportunities for a job like the one she had just turned down. Was she making a dreadful mistake?

  But could she really do otherwise? Was there any other reasonable choice? Wouldn’t she be dreadfully selfish to put her own desires before the needs of a family member—one who had unselfishly given of herself to Christine’s mother—and to Christine—over the years?

  Round and round in her muddled brain the arguments and frustrations clamored. At length she breathed a simple prayer, “Lord, if I’ve done the wrong thing, the unwise thing, please forgive me. If I’ve done the right thing, please give me peace. I trust you, Lord, in this and in all things.”

  A calmness gradually settled over her being. She decided she would have been even more conflicted if she had taken the job and left Uncle Jon to work things out on his own.

  Her sense of personal struggle was gone. There was still the feeling of disappointment but no longer the agitation that things “hadn’t worked out.” The Lord was in charge of her life.

  The voice of the conductor awakened her. “Calgary. Next stop, Calgary,” he was calling as he walked up the aisle to the gentle swaying of the train.

  Christine, surprised that she had slept, stirred and gathered her travel bags to her side. She would not worry about what the future held, but she found herself wondering just how the coming days would unfold. Well, that was in God’s hands. It was actually rather exciting.

  Uncle Jonathan stood on the platform, peering into the faces of those who disembarked. When he saw Christine, a smile replaced the worry lines. Without a word he reached out to embrace her.

  “I can’t tell you how relieved we were to hear you could come,” he said against her hair. “But I’m so sorry to intrude.”

  “Nonsense,” Christine responded with a smile. “I’m glad I was available.”

  “Mary can hardly wait to see you. She’s still in a good deal of pain, I’m afraid, with her back injured, but she puts on a brave front.”

  “I’m so sorry, Uncle Jon,” Christine said with another hug.

  “Yes. Well, these things happen. Not always to our good pleasure—but Mary has already found a whole list of things to be thankful for.”

  “Thankful?”

  “She’s thankful nothing was broken. That she didn’t suffer frostbite as she lay on the sidewalk. That a neighbor happened along almost immediately. That she received good medical attention. That she doesn’t have to spend time in hospital. That she has a warm, comfortable home. The list goes on. But most of all, she is thankful you were willing to come to be with her. That is number one on her list, I believe.”

  He smiled again.

  Christine managed a smile of her own. She was awfully glad she hadn’t said no to this opportunity. Surely, surely, God had everything else carefully planned out.

  They soon had stowed her luggage in the car and were pulling away from the station. Jonathan contin
ued filling Christine in on the situation at home. “She’s not to move on her own at all, so it means she needs to be turned every few hours. The difficulty is to get her to relax and not try to help with the moving. She feels so bad about having to put someone else out in such a way. Mary has never been used to being waited on. She has always been the one to do the waiting. This is most trying for her.”

  Christine nodded.

  “Of course we still have Lucy, and there’s the lady who helps with the cleaning and laundry. But I’ve been told that bedside care is something else. The doctor just shrugged and wished me good luck. Says the hospitals are dreadfully short of nursing staff.”

  He steered the car through an intersection, then continued. “So your responsibility will be to look after Mary. Nothing else. There’s not much she can do from her prone position, but she enjoys being read to if you feel you’d like to take that on. I work from eight in the morning to six each day. I will take over when I’m home.”

  He accelerated up the hill that led to his Mount Royal home. “I hope all this is not asking too much.”

  “No—not at all. I’ll be glad to look after her.”

  “In this kind of situation I have always felt that the best policy is to have everything clearly understood right up front,” her uncle went on. Christine nodded in agreement.

  “I haven’t had time to draw up anything on paper, but if you’d like, I can.”

  Christine was surprised. “No. No, that’s not necessary.”

  “You’ll be paid each month, with half a month’s salary given in advance.”

  “Salary? Oh, I’ll not take a salary. I came to help. My room and board will—”

  “A salary. I wouldn’t think of doing it any other way. It’s a salary—or we send you right back.” He glanced her way, eyebrow quirked.

  Christine nodded dumbly. She had not even considered working for pay.

  “Should you need a further advance at any time, for any reason, please do not hesitate to ask,” Uncle Jon added, then told her the amount of the salary.

  Christine gasped. “Oh, that’s too much. Surely—”

  “I’ve inquired into what would be expected for such a position. I’ve been assured that is the cost for such an employee. I wouldn’t ask my own niece to work for any less.”

  “But I came to help—”

  “And you don’t know how thankful we are,” he said as he turned to look at her once again. “I was so concerned about Mary. She was quite beside herself with the complications of her fall. You being here is truly an answer to our prayers.”

  There seemed to be little else for Christine to say.

  She tiptoed up the stairs to her aunt’s room. It seemed so strange to see her energetic aunt Mary lying still and white in the big bed.

  “Aunt Mary,” Christine whispered, and the woman’s eyelids fluttered open.

  “Christine. You’ve come, dear.” A smile lit her face, and she reached out her hand.

  “I’m here. I’ll be back to tend to you just as soon as I get instructions from Uncle Jon. He says you are soon due for your pain medication.”

  “A pill. Yes. I look forward to it, I’m afraid.”

  Christine could see the pain in her aunt’s eyes.

  “I’ll get you some fresh water and be right back,” she promised.

  “Thank you, dear.”

  Christine was at the door when her aunt spoke again. “Christine—I’m so glad you came. I really wasn’t looking forward to spending my next days with a stranger. It’ll be so nice to have you here, my dear.”

  Christine nodded, smiled, and left with the water pitcher.

  CHAPTER

  Twelve

  Christine would not have denied that the next weeks tested her resolve to trust God with her circumstances. Though Aunt Mary was undemanding and cooperative, the days dragged tediously. Turning her aunt to avoid bedsores was one of the biggest struggles. It was accomplished by skillfully maneuvering the sheet on which the patient lay, but it was not easy for Christine to do alone. At times it took more than one attempt before it was successfully completed, and often the procedure was accompanied by pain. Christine tried to time the event so the medication was most effective.

  Jonathan installed a bedside bell that rang in Christine’s room and in the main hall, so while Mary slept, Christine was free to stretch her legs and catch a few minutes of rest herself. But Mary slept very little the first days. The pain was simply too intense and the spasms in her back too severe. Christine alternated hot and cold compresses to help relieve the pain, but even they were not very effective.

  Christine read until she was hoarse, mostly in the hopes that the rhythm of words would be a distraction. She wasn’t sure if her aunt was really following the story.

  Gradually, oh, so gradually, it seemed, the pain began to ease. Mary’s face was not as pinched, her breathing not as shallow. She rested more easily between doses of painkiller. She did not need to stifle groans as much when she was turned. And though the doctor, who visited regularly, assured them that she was making good progress, he also warned that this was the most critical time. Once Mary was not in such intense pain, she was more likely to do something to aggravate the injury and slow down her progress. Christine became even more vigilant. She did not leave the room for little breaks or take her meals in the dining room or kitchen.

  But her evenings were her own. At first she had no idea how to spend them, but then she became acquainted with two girls from the church who had gotten to know her situation. They soon invited her to become involved with them in helping out at the servicemen’s center, working with young soldiers— men and women who were stationed in Calgary.

  Christine was hesitant at first. What could she possibly do to be of help? But after one or two visits to the center, she discovered there were many things she could do—as simple as keeping a full pot of coffee available or setting out brownie squares. It was not long before she was fully involved many evenings each week, watching for ways to bring some kind of pleasure or relief to those in uniform.

  Many were awfully young and not nearly as brave or confident as they pretended to be. Christine’s heart ached for them, and she prayed with all her heart that she might be some encouragement, some measure of light to the ones who were walking into the throes of war without a personal faith.

  It was not long before she discovered that many of the young men were notorious flirts. They seemed to hold the opinion that the only reason the young women volunteers were there was to meet some uniformed young Casanova for the beginning of a wild romance. Christine had no such intention, and she was continually having to make that plain.

  In spite of the complications, Christine did love the work. Many of these young people had been swept into the military on a wave of public sentimentality or as an open invitation to adventure, to see the world. Few seemed to have given careful consideration to where their choice might take them, and they now were having second thoughts. Not that they would not have made the same choice at a more serious moment if they had felt their country was truly at risk. But the war seemed very far away. Britain might feel threatened by the march of Nazism—but Canada? It didn’t seem too likely.

  Every day the local headlines and radio stations broadcast news from the front. Many European countries were being invaded in Hitler’s march to power. Britain and its Commonwealth countries seemed to be alone in trying to halt the destruction. This was serious business. This was not a holiday abroad. Young soldiers were giving their lives. Many were returning from battle with broken or mutilated bodies. Others had been taken as prisoners of war. Christine felt sure this really wasn’t what these young enlistees had in mind.

  She would not have attempted to downplay their sacrifice. Far from it. She admired them for the stand they had taken— providing that stand had been taken with an understanding of the potential consequences.

  Night after night she listened to the stories of their lives, their secret fear
s—when they allowed themselves to be serious enough to talk openly. Silly pranks, machismo, and loud laughter often masked how they really felt. But when they did feel safe to share their deeper feelings, it was often an open invitation to point them to Someone who would go with them even behind enemy lines. Several of the young men and women turned up at Sunday services in the local churches.

  But there were many more who did not. Who laughed in the face of impending danger and strengthened their own boldness with vulgar speech and swaggering stance. At times Christine wished to shake them into reality. But she knew that tack would never work. They needed love. They needed prayer. They needed a sense that there were those who would listen to them. The volunteers tried hard to supply as much support as they could.

  The day finally arrived when the doctor allowed Mary out of bed for the first time. Christine could tell by her face that she still wasn’t without pain, but she bit her lip and held back any comment. Weak from lack of muscle use, she needed support as she took her first steps to the chair that awaited her.

  “As soon as we can we will start a regimen of exercise,” the doctor said. “First we want to see how her back will respond to some time in the chair.”

  Within a few hours, Mary was ready to go back to her bed. But she had surpassed the doctor’s first-day hopes. The next day she was up for a longer period of time, and the following day she spent almost half of her day in an upright position.

  The doctor decided it was time to begin therapy to strengthen the muscles, and Christine was shown a series of movements that she was to help Mary accomplish several times a day. Christine occasionally wondered just who was getting the most exercise. Many nights she went to bed early, she was so weary. She even missed some evenings at the center. She was simply too exhausted to go.

  But it was not long until Mary could assume most of the muscle stretches and lifts on her own. Barring complications, Christine knew she would not be needed much longer.

  “Why don’t you find a job here, dear?” Mary asked one morning as they worked together with the daily routine. “There must be lots of work available. Calgary is booming, they tell me. And many young people have enlisted and have been shipped overseas.”