The Bluebird and the Sparrow (17 page)

I wonder what we’ve been doing for him since Mrs. Jenkins died?
she asked herself. She had not given the man much consideration until Thomas had brought up the subject.
Surely there are those in the congregation who are caring for the pastor,
Berta’s thoughts continued. The elders. The deacons. Someone must be concerned about his welfare. As a single woman she could hardly be expected to entertain the widowed pastor.

He stood and announced the first hymn of the morning. Berta turned to the page and shared her book with Jamie even though he could not read one word from it.

Her thoughts turned from the minister to the service at hand. There wasn’t anything different about the morning from any other Sunday. The events of the program proceeded just as she had grown to expect.

But at the end of the service her mind was jarred to attention. Deacon Burns stepped forward after the last hymn, cleared his throat, toyed with his rimmed spectacles, and began to speak.

“It is with deep regret that the Board of Elders has accepted the resignation of our pastor of thirty-seven years.”

A hush fell over the entire congregation. It was followed by a low moan from Mrs. Tinker, who expressed all of her feelings by varying tones.

“Pastor Jenkins has handed us his resignation to be effective at the end of the month. He will be taking leave of his responsibilities in order to seek rest and restoration.

“Pastor Jenkins has served us long and well, and we are sorry to see him go. But we do believe—” He stopped and cleared his throat again. “We believe that he has earned the rest—that he needs the restoring. It has been difficult for him to carry on the ministry alone after the death of his dear wife two years ago. She has been deeply and sorely missed.”

Again a moan from Mrs. Tinker.

“The elders will be actively searching for a replacement for our dear pastor. We would ask for your prayers—in regards to the search for the right minister to fill this pulpit—and for Pastor Jenkins as he seeks what God has for him in the future.”

Another moan. This one low and long, a sign of Mrs. Tinker’s deepest emotional distress.

Berta could not believe her ears. A new minister? She had never in her entire life had any minister but Pastor Jenkins. She couldn’t imagine a worship service without the good man standing behind the pulpit. She wondered if she would even wish to attend on Sunday mornings with someone new representing the Lord.

Thomas would find my attitude shocking,
she found herself thinking and wondered why Thomas and his response had popped into her mind.

“What did he say?” It was Jamie, tugging at her Sunday suit jacket and trying to keep his voice to a whisper.

Berta gave him a stern look and a caution to be quiet. She bent to him and whispered in his ear, “Pastor Jenkins will be leaving.”

“Why? I like him,” said the youngster.

“Shh. We all like him,” replied Berta.

The congregation was stirring about now. The pastor had gone down the aisle to take his customary place at the door, greeting his congregation and receiving their regrets about his departure.

“Why?” asked Jamie in a rather loud whisper.

“He’s tired,” Berta whispered back. “He needs a rest.”

“Like Mama?” asked Jamie, used to being cautioned to allow his mother to rest since the arrival of little Rosie.

“Sort of,” replied Berta in a normal tone now that their discussion was covered by sounds of the people leaving the building. She began to gather her things together.

“I’m gonna miss church,” said Jamie at her elbow. “I liked the stories and everything.”

“We’ll still have church,” Berta was quick to tell him. He looked surprised.

“Who’ll talk?” he asked her. “Mr. Burns?”

“We’ll find another minister.”

“When?”

“As soon as we can.”

“I don’t think I’ll like him much,” said Jamie stubbornly. “He won’t be the same.”

“No,” agreed Berta shaking her head as she led the young boy from the pew. “He won’t be the same.” She looked down at Jamie beside her, a bit nonplussed that he had put her thoughts into words.

———

“Can I see you—in private?”

Thomas stood before her, his eyes shadowed. Berta could sense bad news, though she knew not why.

“What is it?” she asked sharply.

He nodded his head toward the small private room behind her.

Wordlessly she got up and led the way, fear and anger mingling within her. Why didn’t he just say what was wrong?

“Is it Mama?” she asked as he closed the door firmly behind them.

He shook his head. “Jamie,” was all he said.

Berta stood motionless. Her thoughts began to whirl. Jamie? Jamie wasn’t sick. He was young—and strong. What possibly could have happened to Jamie?

Hands were easing her into a chair, gently but firmly. She wanted to strike out—to make him back off and leave her alone so she could sort it out.

“He fell—from a tree,” he said.

“What—” she demanded.

“He’s been taken to the hospital. Glenna is there. She sent word to me to come for you.”

Berta’s muddled head began to clear. Had Jamie broken an arm? A leg? Children were always breaking limbs. They healed quickly. She felt a measure of relief.

“They aren’t sure of the injuries,” Thomas was saying.

“What injuries?” she asked dumbly, panic again overtaking her.

“They don’t know,” continued Thomas. “He hurt his head—seriously. They don’t know—”

But she stopped him with a swift backhand that caught him across the chest. She wrenched herself free from him and stood to her feet. “Don’t talk nonsense,” she declared. “His father’s a doctor.”

For a moment Thomas’s eyes reflected surprise, then he seemed to understand.

“Of course,” he agreed. “He’ll get the best of care.”

Berta headed for the door. He reached out and took her arm.

“Berta,” he said, “Berta—”

“I need to get back to work,” she said firmly, frowning at his hand on her arm.

“No,” he said just as firmly. “No, you don’t need to go back to work. I came to take you to the hospital. Glenna needs you.”

She stared at him.

“I’ll talk to Miss Phillips—tell her you are leaving. You get your things,” he instructed.

She stared back at him, her eyes and throat dry. Was it really that serious—or was Glenna just suffering mother-panic?

Surely not Jamie. Not Jamie,
her heart was crying, but she couldn’t voice the words. Couldn’t even let herself feel them.

“Is it necessary?” she managed to ask Thomas.

He nodded. “He’s hurt quite badly, Berta.”

She did not nod. Did not try to speak. Mutely and dumbly she moved toward her light shawl and hat. By habit, she placed the hat on her smoothly pinned hair. Reached for her gloves and moved woodenly through the door. The next thing she knew they were moving out of the building toward a waiting team and buggy.

Surely, this is all wrong. It’s just a nightmare. It’s not Jamie. It can’t be Jamie.
Her scattered thoughts kept fighting against the truth as they rode quickly through the streets.

Thomas helped her from the buggy and led her into the stark, sterile building. Down one hall and then another, around a corner, into a dark room, beyond that to another room, another hall. She did not understand where they were going, but she could fight against it no longer. It must be true. Jamie had been seriously hurt.

She heard a cry, “Oh, Berta,” and Glenna threw herself into her arms. Berta mechanically put her arms around her younger sister and tried to calm her uncontrolled sobs.

“Shh. Shh,” Berta said again and again as she held her. “It’ll be all right. It’ll be all right.”

But Berta had no idea if her words were true.

When Glenna calmed enough to speak she sobbed out the story, as though she had to say it all to make it real. “He was climbing. That tree in the garden—after his kitten. He slipped and fell. He hit his head on a rock and—and—” She began to weep again.

Berta felt her anxiety being replaced by anger.
Why had they let Jamie climb the tree? Why hadn’t someone been watching the boy? What kind of mother was Glenna—?

But immediately she knew she wasn’t being fair. No mother could protect a child twenty-four hours a day.

“Does Mama know?” she asked Glenna.

“Thomas has gone to her.”

It was the first Berta realized that Thomas had left them. Distractedly, she wondered when he had slipped away.

Glenna was wiping at tears that streamed down her cheeks. “We need prayer,” she whispered through trembling lips. “Lots of prayer. Parker says that only a miracle—”

Surely not,
thought Berta.
He’s a doctor. What did he train for if he couldn’t do anything? He’s supposed to be able to fix things,
she mentally accused.

“I asked our neighbor boy to run to Pastor Jenkins,” Glenna told her. “He’ll ask Deacon Burns to get the word out to the congregation. We need to pray.” Glenna almost fell back into the chair behind her and bowed her tear-streaked face into her hands to resume praying.

Berta lowered herself slowly into the chair beside her. She felt helpless. Wooden. She should pray Glenna was counting on her.

But she couldn’t pray She couldn’t think. All she could do was moan. An image of Mrs. Tinker flashed into her mind. She understood her for the first time. Some things were felt far too deeply to be expressed in words—even in prayer.

————

The hours in the hospital corridor dragged slowly by. Pastor Jenkins came with his Bible and sympathy. Thomas finally returned with Mrs. Berdette. They huddled together, weeping and praying. Now and then Parker came out to Glenna or sent word with another doctor or a nurse. Berta couldn’t understand the words. The talk. Her mind refused to accept anything that was being said.

It cannot be. It must not be. It is not my Jamie they are talking about.
It was not Glenna’s little boy who was hanging on to life by a thread. Surely his doctor father would be able to do something.

All through the long night Berta agonized. With all her heart she longed for the morning.
With morning this will all pass away,
she told herself.
Things will straighten out in the morning. They’ll know what to do for him, come morning. Things are always more easily understood by the light of day,
she reassured herself.

“Would you like to see him?”

Parker stood by her side, looking exhausted. He still wore hospital whites and his surgical mask had slipped down haphazardly covering his Adam’s apple rather than his nose and mouth.

Berta was about to say no, then she realized that she could not. She had to see him. She knew that. She stood unsteadily to her feet. Someone was taking her elbow, steering her down a long, empty hall. It was not Parker. He was on her other side.

Berta walked on, her legs rubbery, her mind in a haze. They passed through a door and into a brightly lit room. On the hospital table a small form was bundled. Bandages and tubes filled her with nameless dread. She didn’t understand what they represented, and she realized she didn’t wish to know either.

They moved her closer, almost against her will, and then she was looking down upon the face of little Jamie. He was so pale, so lifeless. So little.

A sob broke from Berta’s lips. She caught herself before another could escape from her.

She stood for a moment with eyes closed, her mind and emotions reeling from shock and sorrow, and then she took hold of herself. She determinedly opened her eyes again, pushed back whoever was supporting her, leaned over the little boy and said in a firm, nearly calm voice, “Jamie. Jamie, listen to me. You get better. Do you hear? Rosie—”

For a moment she choked and could not go on, but she fought for control again. “Rosie needs her big brother. She likes you best. Remember?”

But she did not say the words that were in her heart. The words that she ached to say.
Jamie, I love you. I love you. Yes. The answers yes—Ilove you.

There was not even a twitch or a blink in response to her voice. Slowly she straightened, turned, and left the room.

It wasn’t even a half hour later that a heartbroken Parker returned with the news that little Jamie was gone.

Chapter Seventeen

Strength

The months that followed were bleak and empty. Berta wished she could hide from the entire world. She wanted to shut herself away, close her eyes, stop her ears, and deny that it had ever happened. The deep, dark pain she was feeling was almost more than she could bear. Surely it too was as unreal as the tragedy itself.

But to any observers around her she carried on as usual. Berta was the strength for her mother, who grieved openly for her first grandchild, the small grandson she had lost. She was her sister’s support and comforter as Glenna mourned the loss of her son. Berta continued doing what needed to be done, caring for the things that needed to be cared for, going through the motions of being alive.

“Berta is so strong,” members of the congregation said often.

“I don’t know what the family would do without Berta,” community people said to one another.

And then the family was dealt a second blow. Granna passed away in her sleep. Another grave was prepared in the little churchyard cemetery.

“Can she be right beside Jamie?” asked Glenna, her voice breaking. “He seems so little to be left all alone there.”

Berta thought she’d never be able to go through another family funeral, but the sight of her mother, shoulders bent, face pale and wan, made her straighten her back with determination. Her mother needed her as never before.

It was Glenna who seemed to work her way through the grief first. Berta wondered how she could still smile after what she had been through, but gentle, loving Glenna seemed even more joyous than she had been before.

It puzzled Berta. At times it even angered her. She found herself drawing away from Glenna. How could his own mother forget little Jamie so quickly and carry on with life as though—as though he had never existed?

Of course, there was small Rosie. Glenna seemed to take special delight in Rosie. But to Berta, the little girl with her smiles and coos was just a painful reminder of Jamie, who had loved her so.