When Heaven Weeps (41 page)

With that he turned on his heels and strode from the room.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

“Suffering is an oxymoron. There is unfathomable peace and satisfaction in suffering for Christ. It is as though you have searched endlessly for your purpose in life, and now found it in the most unexpected place: in the death of your flesh. It is certainly a moment worthy of laughter and dance. And in the end it is not suffering at all. The apostle Paul recommended that we find joy in it. Was he mad?”

The Dance of the Dead, 1959

JAN APPROACHED his home's entryway midafternoon Monday with a sense of déjà vu raging through his mind. He'd been here before: walking up to the sign that read
In living we die; In dying we live
, on a hot summer afternoon, surrounded by stifling silence, wondering what waited behind those doors.

Helen had not answered his calls from New York.

Father, you must save her
, he prayed for the hundredth time since leaving her on Friday.
You must protect her
. He prayed it because she was slipping—he could feel it more than deduce it. Helen was in a fight for her life and the fact that he'd left her for three days now played like a horn in his mind. It was killing him.

Jan unlocked the door and stepped in. The lights were off; the house appeared vacant. “Helen! Helen, dear, I'm home!”

He set down his garment bag and tossed the keys on the entry table. “Helen!” Jan hurried into the kitchen. “Helen, are you here?” Only the ringing of silence answered his call. Where was she? Ivena! She would be with Ivena.

“Hi, Jan.”

He whirled to the hall. Helen stood by the basement stairs, dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt, trying to smile and managing barely. Jan's pulse spiked. He reached her and took her into his arms. There was something wrong here, but at least it was
here
, not there; not in some place of wickedness.

“I missed you, Helen.” Her musky smell filled his senses and he closed his eyes. “Are you okay? I tried to call.”

“Yes,” she said thinly. “Yes, I'm all right. How was your trip?”

Jan stepped back. “Terrific. Correction, the meeting was terrific, the trip itself was dreadful. These trips are getting more difficult every time I take them. Maybe you should come with me next time.”

“Jan, there's been a . . . a problem.” If she'd even heard his last comment she didn't show it. “Something's happened.”

“What is it? What problem?”

She turned and walked into the living room, not responding. It was serious then. Serious enough to make Helen balk, which was not so easily accomplished

“Helen, tell me.”

“It's Ivena.” She turned and her eyes glistened wet. “She's . . . she's not so good.”

“What do you mean? What happened?” His tone was panicked and he swallowed. “What happened to Ivena, Helen?”

She lowered her head into her hands and started to cry. Jan stepped up to her and smoothed her hair. “Shhh, it's okay, dear. Everything will be okay. You're more precious to me than anything I know. You remember that, don't you?”

The comment only added to her tears, he thought. “Tell me, Helen. Just tell me what's happened.”

“She's hurt, Jan.”

Now he stepped back in alarm. “Hurt? Where? Where is she?”

“At home.”

“Well . . . How did she get hurt?” he demanded, aware that he'd taken a harsh tone now. “Did she have a car accident?” A picture of that crazy gray Bug stuttered through his mind. He'd told her a hundred times to get something larger.

“No. She was hurt.”

“Yes, but how? How was she hurt?”

“I think you should ask her that.”

“You can't tell me?” Now Jan was worried. She was making no sense. This was more than an accident. “Okay, then, if you won't tell me, we'll go there.”

“No, Jan. You go.”

“Don't be ridiculous! You'll come with me. I'm not leaving here without you.”

She shook her head and the tears were flowing free now. “No. I can't. You have to go alone.”

“Why? You're my wife. How can I—”

“Go, Jan! Just go,” she said. Then, with closed eyes, “I'll be here when you return, I promise. Just go.”

He stared at her, stunned. Something very bad had happened to Ivena. That much was now obvious. Not as clear was Helen's behavior.

“I'll be right back,” he said. He kissed her on the cheek and ran for his car.

JAN FOUND Ivena's house unlocked and he stormed in, not thinking to knock. His imagination had already pushed him past such formalities.

“Ivena . . .” He pulled up.

She sat in her brown overstuffed chair, humming and smiling and slowly rocking. The heavy scent of her roses filled the room; she must have strewn them everywhere. The distant sound of children laughing carried on the air.

“Hello, Jan.” Her head rested on the cushion—making no effort to look at him.

Jan shoved the door closed behind him. At first he didn't see the bruising. But the discoloration beneath her makeup became obvious—black and blue at the base of her nose and on her right cheek.

“Did you have a good trip?” she asked.

“What happened?”

She straightened her head. “My, we are demanding. Did you speak to Helen?”

“Yes.”

“And? She told you what?”

“That you'd been hurt. That's all. She refused to come. What's going on?”

She leaned her head back. “Sit, Janjic.” He sat opposite her. “First you tell me how your trip was, and then I'll tell you why my head hurts.”

“My trip was fine. They're paying us more money. Now stop this nonsense and tell me what's going on.”

“More money? Goodness, you will be floating in the stuff.”

“Ivena!”

Ivena's body ached, but her spirit was light. She might not be floating in money like Janjic, but she was still floating. “Okay, my dear Serb. Calm your voice; it hurts my head.”

“Then tell me why your head hurts and why my wife will not come here with me.”

Ivena took a deep breath and told him. Not everything, not yet. She told him how the big oaf, Glenn . . . how his men had taken her in the park, using chloroform, she thought. When she'd awoken she'd met the man behind Helen's fears. Nothing less than a monster, ugly and smelly and no less brutal than the worst in Bosnia. He had bound her and spit on her and clubbed her with his huge fist.

Janjic was out of his chair then, red in his face. “That's . . . insane! We should call the police! Did you call the police?”

“Yes, Janjic. Please sit.”

He sat. “And what did they say?”

“They asked me if I wanted to press charges.”

“And?”

“I said I would have to think about it. I wanted to talk to you first.”

“That's absurd! Of course you want to press charges. This man's not someone to play with!”

“You think I do not know? You weren't the only one who spent some time in his chambers. But there's more to this than what the eye sees.”

Jan shoved a hand toward her. “Of course there is! There's a monster who first tried to destroy Helen and who's now trying to destroy my . . .” He swallowed. “My mother.”

It was the first time he'd called her that. “I am flattered, Janjic. And if I had a son, I could only hope for one as kind as you. But there's still more. You're not asking
why
Glenn took me.”

“Why?” he asked.

“As a threat.” Ivena pushed herself slowly from her chair and hobbled for the kitchen. “Do you want a drink, Janjic?”

He followed her, but did not answer her question. “This has to do with Helen.” His voice had stiffened. “Look at you. You can hardly walk and yet you're playing this as if it were some kind of game. What does Helen have to do with this?” he demanded.

She stopped in the middle of the kitchen and faced him. “But it
is
a game, you see? And it seems that Helen is the prize.” She left him staring and retrieved two glasses.

“What game?”

“What game? It is the game of life, a testing to see where the player's loyalties really do lie. Like Christ's temptation in the desert—bow to me and I will give you the world. But with Glenn it is, ‘come to me and I will extend my mercy
.
'” She poured the lemonade, knowing Jan couldn't understand yet.

“Ivena—”

“Leave Jan, Glenn told Helen, and I will allow this bag of bones to live.” She handed him the drink.

For a long moment, the kitchen was quiet except for the sound of those children laughing down the street. Ivena took a sip of her drink and then walked for the living room again, smiling. She had nearly reached the chair when he spoke.

“He said that? Glenn said that if Helen didn't leave me he would kill you? He actually threatened your life?”

“Yes, Janjic. He said that.”

He marched into the room and set his glass down without drinking from it. “He can't do that! He can't just threaten like that and hope to get away with it! We have to call the police immediately!”

She eased into her chair and sighed.

“Ivena! Listen to me! This is madness! He's not one to fool with!”

“You know, I have had an incredible peace these last few weeks. And do you know what has accompanied that peace?”

Jan sat down without answering.

“A desire to join Christ. To join Nadia. To see, with my own eyes, my Father in heaven.”

“But you're not saying that you want to die! That's why you haven't called the police? Because you actually want this creep to end your life? That's suicide!”

“Please!” she chided. He blinked. “I have no death wish. I said that I wish to join Christ. I did not say that I wish to die. There is a difference. Even Paul the apostle saw joining Christ as gain. Do not mock my sentiment!”

“I'm sorry. But you seem to take this all too lightly. Goodness, your life has been threatened and you've been beaten up! Did he give a time frame?”

“Three days.”

“He said that if Helen does not leave me in three days, he will kill you?”

“Am I not speaking clearly, Janjic?”

“It's impossible! Who does he think he is?”

“He is a man obsessed with destroying your union with Helen. With stealing her love. And he's doing it by threatening death. Love and death. They seem to intersect often, have you noticed?”

“Perhaps too often. I'm going to call the police.” He started to walk for the phone. “This is utter nonsense.”

“There is more, Janjic.” She guessed it was her tone that stopped him.

He hesitated and then turned to face her.

She looked at him, unable to hide a smile, wanting him to ask her. He only stared at her, still distracted.

“I saw the field.”

“The field?”

“The vision.”

His eyes widened and he blinked. “Of Helen? You heard heaven weeping?”

Her face took on a wide grin. “Not the weeping. But I heard the laughter.”

“You saw the field of flowers?” Jan asked.

She nodded. “Tell me again what the flowers in your vision looked like, Janjic.”

“White.”

“Yes, but describe them.”

“Well, I wasn't looking too closely . . . they were large . . . I don't know.”

Ivena stood and walked for the bookcase behind him. She pulled the single red-rimmed flower from a crystal vase and turned to him. “Were they like this?”

He stepped toward her. “Maybe. Yes, as a matter of fact I think they were. It's the same flower you showed me before. What is it?”

“I'll show you.” She took his hand and pulled him through the kitchen, excited now. “You will like this, Janjic. I promise you.”

“Ivena—”

“Hush now. You will see. I know you will like this.”

She reached the greenhouse door and paused, thinking that such an occasion needed an introduction. But there was nothing that could prepare him. She turned the knob and shoved the door open.

A soft breeze greeted their faces, pushing the hair from their foreheads. Ivena stepped in and spread her arms in the wind, drawing the air into her lungs. The delicate aroma rose through her nostrils, stinging but sweet. Oh, so very sweet. She faced the rosebushes and for a moment she forgot about Janjic stepping in behind her. Hundreds of vines covered the walls and ceiling in emerald green. A thousand brilliant white flowers trimmed in red swayed gently, bowing with the breeze. The vine's leaves rustled delicately against each other, filling the room with a cacophony of soft rustling. It all swept over Ivena's senses like a drug. She could almost taste honey on the air.

The door shut behind her, and Ivena turned to see Janjic standing wide-eyed, mouth agape.

“They came from Nadia's rosebush,” she said. She ran for the bush and rustled her hand through the leaves. “You see it was a graft, but I didn't make it.”

“A graft?” He stepped gingerly, as though anything less might break something. “What . . . ? This is amazing, Ivena! How did you grow this?”

“I didn't. It's beyond me. It began the day Helen came into our lives.”

He shot her a glance, and then looked about, blinking.

“And there is more,” Ivena said. “I can't find a source for the breeze. I think it comes from the flowers themselves.”

“‘Let your wind blow through my garden,'” he quoted from the Song of Solomon. “It's impossible!” He spun around to face her. “Who else have you told?”

“Only Joey.”

Jan couldn't stop his turning and staring. “And you knew about this all along? Why didn't you tell me? How did it grow?”

He looked closer at the graft and then she retraced the plant's growth for him, first along one wall, then another and another until the whole greenhouse was covered with vines and leaves and flowers.