A Soldier's Heart

He turned his head far enough to look at the waiting wheelchair. It might as well be forty feet high, for the effort it would take to get back into it.

“Quite a climb,” she said, guessing his thoughts with uncanny accuracy.

He grunted in agreement. “Hard to believe I used to climb mountains for fun.”

He’d loved the adrenaline rush of pushing his body to the utmost as he scaled a sheer rock face, the euphoria of reaching the top and knowing he’d conquered it. Now he couldn’t even get himself into a chair.

“Just rest a few minutes.” Mary Kate sat back on her heels as if she could use the rest, too. Her hair clung in damp ringlets to her neck, and while he watched she stretched her arms overhead as if trying to relieve taut muscles.

Her willingness to wait for him made him perversely eager to get back into the chair. “Let’s do it.” He shoved himself up onto his elbows. “No sense in wasting the day lying around.”

“Eager to get back to daytime television?” She maneuvered the chair into position and locked the brake before squatting down next to him.

“Not much else to do.” He’d been mildly embarrassed when she’d come in and found him watching reruns of sixties comedies.

“Let your friends come by and see you,” she said promptly. “Check some books out of the library. Take up a hobby.”

“Stamp collecting?” He let her pull his arm across her shoulders. Once he’d have enjoyed being that close to her. Now it just reminded him of his own helplessness.

“You still have a woodworking shop in the room behind the kitchen. I notice your mother never cleared that out.”

“No, thanks.”

It had been his father’s shop originally, not his. He’d hung around, watching, until his father finally saw his interest and showed him how to cut a curve and sand down an edge. After his dad left, he’d kept up with it for a while, maybe out of some stupid belief that his dad would come back and be proud of what he’d made. He’d learned, eventually. He hadn’t bothered with it in years.

Mary Kate double-checked the chair’s position, and he felt her muscles tighten. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

Together they managed to haul his useless body into the chair, but by the time he was settled they were both breathless.

“Good work,” she said.

He shoved her hands away, hating that he had to rely on her strength instead of his own. “Don’t patronize me. I’m not one of your kids.”

A flicker of anger touched her eyes and was gone. “I don’t patronize my kids.”

So he could hurt her. Disgust filled him. What kind of a man was he? He didn’t want her pity, but he also didn’t like feeling that she was unaffected. So he sniped at her. Not very pretty, was it?

Mary Kate straightened, seeming to throw off her reactions. “Let’s talk about where we’re going to put all the equipment that’s coming on Saturday.”

He shrugged. “I don’t care. You decide.”

She walked through the archway to the dining room. “I was thinking we might use this room. All we’d have to move out are the chairs and table. The sideboard wouldn’t be in the way.”

He wheeled after her into the room, his attention caught in spite of himself. “I guess that would work. I’m not likely to be hosting any dinners for eight.”

“Or even one, judging by the condition of your refrigerator.”

“Just stay out of my refrigerator,” he said, knowing she was right. He was subsisting on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, for the most part.

“Where do you plan to put the table and chairs?” He wouldn’t sell the dining-room furniture his mother had kept polished and shining.

Mary Kate touched the smooth surface. “I think it’ll be okay in the garage.”

“How do you plan to get it there?” He slapped the arms of the wheelchair. “I’m not exactly in shape to move furniture.”

“My brothers offered to—”

“No.” He cut her off before she could finish the offer of charity. “Hire someone to do it. I’ll pay.”

He felt her gaze on him, but refused to return it. He wasn’t going to have guys he’d played football and basketball with coming in here, trying to make polite conversation and avoid looking at his wheelchair. Or worse, telling him how sorry they were while they stood there on two good feet.

“Fine.” She gave in quickly.

He glanced around the room, picturing it filled with exercise equipment. “Are you sure this equipment rental is going to be covered? I don’t want to be presented with a big bill for stuff I didn’t want to begin with.”

She turned away, seeming to mentally measure the room for the equipment. “It’ll be covered,” she said shortly. “One thing—we might have to let your car sit out once we put the furniture in the garage.”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I ought to sell it, anyway. I won’t be driving again.”

“You don’t know that.” She swung toward him, her eyes darkening with concern. “Luke, you can’t just give up on things. Nobody can tell how much you’re going to recover.”

“Nobody?” Anger surged through him suddenly—at her, at God, at himself for surviving. “I can, Mary Kate. I can tell you exactly how much I’m going to recover. Do you want to know?”

She took a step back, as if alarmed by his anger. He should stop, but he couldn’t.

“I’m going to be in this chair forever, and nothing you or anyone else does is going to change that.”

What was she going to do about Luke? The question revolved in Mary Kate’s mind like a hamster on a wheel as she cleaned up the kitchen that evening after supper. The children’s voices rose and fell from the living room, where they were engaged in a board game. A game that seemed to involve argument, by the sound of things.

She frowned at the raspberry jelly that had dried on the bottom rung of one of the pine kitchen chairs. It was beyond her understanding how the three of them could make such a mess in the house when they were gone most of the day. It would be summer vacation in a month, and how she’d manage then, she couldn’t imagine.

Just like she couldn’t see what to do about Luke. The depth of his bitterness continued to shock her. She knew as well as anyone the important role played by the patient’s attitude in healing. Luke’s anger and isolation would poison any chance of wholeness if someone didn’t do something to change it.

And, it seemed, either through chance or perhaps through God’s working, that she was the one who was in a position to change that.

Did You put me in this situation? You must have a reason, but I don’t see it. Seems to me I’m that last person who can help him deal with loss. I’m still struggling with that myself.

She wouldn’t change Luke by encouraging him with words. His irritation when he felt she spoke to him as she’d speak to her children was proof of that.

And speaking of her children, the noise level in the other room had risen dramatically, followed by the clatter of a game board being upset. She tossed the dishcloth into the sink and stalked into the living room, trying to get a handle on her impatience.

“Hey, what’s going on in here? Who threw the checkerboard?”

She knew the answer to that without asking. Shawna, who never lost control, looked smug, while Michael’s eyes were suspiciously bright. He folded his arms across his chest, his lower lip jutting out.

This didn’t look like the right time for scolding. In fact, this wasn’t usually her time at all. Kenny had always taken the evening chores with the kids when he’d been off duty. This had been his time to play with them, roughhousing on the carpet despite her protests and supervising baths and bedtime.